Fresh Rain
by DanyaKat
Summary: I commit to memory her calling me handsome, how the 1968 cabernet mixes with rose perfume and freshly baked bread. I love her now in a way I never have before, and I'm not going to make it out in one piece. :Lily survives Voldemort's attack and Snape searches for redemption. Slow burn.
1. Prologue

_Hello, there! Here's a project I've been working on while I try and figure out my other piece. I hope you enjoy it! XOXO_

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 **FRESH RAIN**

 **PROLOGUE**

* * *

Think of your favorite scents. Conjure them up in your mind, and reflect on why they mean so much to you. Would you expect to smell them on the worst day of your life, tainted by awful smells?

Wet grass, fresh rain, and rose perfume. Dark Magic, acrid smoke, dust and rubble. These scents have perversed those which remind me of the day I met her, the days I spent with her, the evening I betrayed her, the night I nearly lost her forever. I can't burn these smells from my brain; it's been forty-eight hours since I first caught the mixture, and yet they still surround me, and when I close my eyes, panic sets in as though I'm standing in that house still.

I haven't slept in these long two days.

Harry has slept, however. He sleeps, curled on m chest, snoring slightly and drooling. I dabbed a touch of rose oil behind my ears, and he no longer screams for Lily, as long as I am holding him. He won't let himself be held by others, save for one healer with red hair who he tolerates as long as I am near. He misses his mother.

Lily still hasn't awoken. Healer Greene wants her kept in the coma until her magical stores are built up. He fears that the blast of magic from the Dark Lord severely damaged her powers, and I share this fear, though I refuse to voice it. No one knows what happened in that house. Lily may be able to tell us when the Healers rouse her, but for now the only evidence we have is the demolished house and the gash on Harry's head. There is much speculation in the papers, though. Reporters have come and been shooed away, and I wish that I could remember what Lily's grandmother's name was, so I could contact her, the last family she has that would care for her condition, or for Harry.

Albus allowed Harry to be released to me, much to my astonishment. I know enough about the old man to realize that he has a plan, some ulterior motive, but I cannot read it as of yet. He voiced considering Lily's sister and her husband as guardians for the baby, but I convinced him otherwise. I remember what a selfish, bitter woman Petunia Evans was, and felt certain she would hold little, if any, love for her magical nephew. So, he put Harry in my custody.

I have no idea what to do once the shock wears off, but he seems content with me. I've kept him fed and watered. I ensure he sleeps well, and the more motherly Healers and assistants have brought him hand-me-down toys to play with and clothes to wear.

So, I'm sitting here, in this rocking chair which the Healers have set next to Lily's bed, rocking her son to sleep, and wondering at the odd turn my life has taken. With the Dark Lord gone, could my life settle into some semblance of normalcy? Could Lily forgive me for my awful mistake years ago? I regard her sleeping face, littered with bruises which the Healers were unable to fade, her proof that she stood up to the Dark Lord; I allow myself to hope, for a moment, that she-and Harry-could be a part of my new normal.

Would that I could burn this Mark off my skin the way that Dark Magic burned the house down around the three of us. The way it burned up James Potter's body.

I wonder if the smell of burning flesh and ink and Dark Magic would smell better than wet grass and fresh rain and rose perfume.


	2. Chapter 1

_Hello, all! I hope you'll enjoy this installment. Leave a review if you like it._ _XOXO_

* * *

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER ONE**

 **AFTER THE STORM**

* * *

After a week with no improvement in her magical stores, which have stagnated around 60 percent, Healer Greene decides that it is time to rouse Lily from her coma. She's paled incredibly, and her face looks gaunt and too thin, despite the nutrition potions. Her hair has lost its shine, though I can't tell if any of this is merely from the hospital stay, the stress of being in hiding, or both.

Greene approaches me while I am attempting to convince harry that the toilet is not only safe, but necessary. A well-meaning assistant tried to tell me yesterday that the boy was too young to learn, but he is a smart boy, and as soon as he no longer fears the rushing water of a flush, he'll pick up on it easily.

"Mister Snape," Healer Greene begins, in that contemptuous voice he reserves for me.

" _Professor_ Snape," I correct him yet again, not looking up from where Harry is investigating the lever to flush. I may only have been appointed to my post as Potions Professor for a few months, but in the case of condescending Healers, I wouldn't hesitate to correct this pompous Healer as many times as necessary.

"I feel," he continues, as though I hadn't spoken, "that Mrs. Potter is as recovered as she has any hope to be, and that it is time to remove the sleep." He has baggy eyes and a swollen face from eating too much sodium. I've seen his diet, and as a doctor he should be appalled at himself.

I pick up Harry and pull up his training pants and corduroys. He snuggles into me. "I agree. I will be present."

Greene holds up a hand. "That won't be necessary. I will come and alert you when she is stable—"

"The Headmaster and generous donator to your cause has made it no secret that he trusts me, and has also made it clear that I am to remain by Lily during any procedure she undergoes, sleep and stasis charm removals included. I _will_ be there."

Greene huffs out a much put-upon sigh. "The boy?"

"Mrs. Potter will no doubt be comforted by the sight of her son alive and well after her ordeal. As will Harry to see his mother awake." I brush past Greene and walk with Harry to the room his mother is in, stopping by her bed. "Are you ready to see your mum again?" I coo to the boy.

"Mum-muh-muh," he babbles, and blows a kiss to her sleeping form. He grins at me and I return it. Over the past week, harry has grown attached to me. We've created our own rapport. He smiles and pats my face, he runs his fingers through my hair when he's sleepy. He knows a few words—Mum and Da and kitty. I've been teaching him some sign language, and he's constantly tapping his fingers to his chubby palm—mother. Whatever we do, I do as much by Lily's bedside as I can—teaching Harry, playing with him, meals. Greene said she may be able to hear us.

Greene comes in a few minutes later with two other healers—one older and nearly bald, the other just fresh from his Mastery courses— and Harry's favourite red-haired assistant, Mary.

"I've sent a letter to Dumbledore, so he should be in later on today. This spell requires two people, so I've brought Healer Engel to assist me," he nodded toward the elder, "and Healer Rodgers to monitor her vital signs." Greene turns to the others in the room. "Are we ready?" The others nod and pull out their wands, like an orchestrated dance.

"Wan'!" Harry cries out happily, and I smile. He's so smart.

Healer Rodgers raises his wand and points it at Lily.

" _Monitorium Vitales_." A steady hum and a _thump-thump_ fill the air and Rodgers pulls out a muggle timer and a sheet of paper to keep track. "Ready when you are," Rodgers tells the others.

"On three. I will begin, wait until you see the blue glow, then do your part," Greene says to Healer Engle, who nods.

"One—two—three— _Arresto Somnus_!" Greene's wand points a millimeter from Lily's temple. A moment later, her head is encased in a bluish glow and the thrumming in the room speeds up slightly.

"Vitals rising, but sound. Continue," Rodgers calls from his timer.

Greene nods at Engel as he lifts his wand and runs it along the length of Lily's body. " _Solvio Curabit_!" He continues to steadily run his wand up and down Lily's body, until as he moves, a blue glow follows and encompasses her. The glow thrums along with the beating sound. Harry reaches out to feel, but I take the hand and shake my head at him.

"Twenty beats now, prepare for the next part. Twenty-five…and in three—two—one— _now_!"

Together, Greene and Engel chant, " _Reditos Vita_!" The glow intensifies and Mary comes to Lily with a dropper with ten cc's of potion in it.

"Wait for the glow to leave, Mary," Engel reminds her, and she nods. After a few moments, the glow fades and Mary opens Lily's mouth and drops the potion in. Greene and Engel's wands are still on Lily, until Rodgers says, "fifty-eight—fifty-nine—sixty!"

Greene and Engel both chant, " _Finite Incantatum_!" and lower their wands, breathing labored.

"Vitals stable, consciousness returning," Rodgers notes.

"How long until she is fully awake?" I ask.

Greene shakes his head. "Anywhere from five minutes to an hour. It really depends on her. We'll come in every few minutes to check. You'll stay with her?" he makes sure.

I nod and pull a chair to sit on by Lily's head. Harry immediately puts his fingers in her red hair.

I wait. And I wait. At one point Harry insists on being put down and he wanders to his little corner of the room with his toys and pulls out a stuffed barn owl. He puts it in the crook of Lily's arm and settles himself back into my lap.

Tem minutes. Greene pokes his head in and leaves again. Twenty minutes. Rodgers checks her over again. After a half-hour, Harry falls asleep on my chest. His quiet snores ground me in my anxiety over Lily waking. There's no small part of me that knows that Lily could still hate me for my mistake when we were both still in Hogwarts. Not to mention that I'm the reason they went in hiding. Dumbledore swore not to tell them, but I know that if I want a second chance at Lily's friendship, I have to tell her. It scares me more than anything.

Forty-three minutes, and finally a sign. Lily's eyelids flutter and a quiet moan escapes her lips.

"Lily?" I ask. My voice cracks. I'm rewarded with another flutter of her lashes. Without leaving her side, I call for Greene. I take Lily's hand and she lightly squeezes my hand, like a reflex.

Healers Greene and Rodgers bustle in and Rodgers immediately casts the vitals charm, while Greene prepares a mild pain relief potion and a sedative.

"Mrs. Potter? Lily? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

Lily's eyelids flutter again as if under a great weight, and her hand clenches around my own, shaking.

Slowly, her eyes open fully and she squints at the bright lights above her. Mary dims the lights and Lily relaxes a bit.

The relief at seeing her bright emerald eyes is impossible to put into words. My body shifts and relaxes, and a smile comes to my mouth.

She licks her lips. "W-what—where am I?" she asks.

"All signs are good," Rodgers informs Greene.

Greene nods toward him before answering Lily. "You're at St. Mungo's, Mrs. Potter."

Lily gasps—"Harry?"

"Is fine, and sleeping in the corner of the room. He's been well taken care of." Greene flicks a contemptuous glance at me, to which I roll my eyes.

"James?"

"Perhaps we should talk about him in a bit, after you've had a chance to orientate yourself, Mrs. Potter."

Lily looks at him, already comprehending what the words could mean. Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open. "Tell me. Please, just tell me."

"Mrs. Potter, what is the last thing you remember?" Greene presses.

"Where is James?" She's getting herself worked up, and I see Mary reach for the sedative.

"Lily, James is gone," I insert quietly.

At this point, Lily realizes that she is holding my hand, that I even exist in the room at all, and drops it like I'm burning her.

"S-Severus?" she gasps, bewildered.

"It's me, Lily."

"What are you doing here?"

"Mr. Snape has not left your side since you've been her," Greene admits begrudgingly.

"Professor Snape," Lily corrects him, then shakes her head slightly and grimaces at the movement. "My head is killing me."

Mary holds out the pain potion and Lily swallows it after taking a quick sniff from the bottle.

When she's done, she lies back down and looks up at me. "What did you mean, Severus?"

I sigh. "What do you remember?"

Lily furrows her brow. "It was Halloween. I had just put Harry in the little cat outfit my aunt made for him, and was just getting the camera ready. I—I think that was the last thing." She looks as though she's not sure, but doesn't offer anything else.

"You-Know-Who broke into your home that night, Mrs. Potter. He killed James, and went after you. We're not sure how you're alive."

I turn and retrieve Harry from his portable cot in the corner, ready to show him to Lily, give her some stability.

Lily covers her mouth, tears coming to her eyes. "James is dead?" she whimpers.

"I'm so sorry, Lily," I say. And it's true—how can I feel even neutral about my enemy when Lily is crying over him?"

Lily's hands go over her stomach. She looks up at Healer Greene. He shakes his head sadly at her. "I'm sorry."

I whip my head around at Greene and glare at him. I knew he was keeping something from me, I knew it. He refuses to look at me, the coward.

Lily lets out a great, shuddering breath. "Get out. All of you, get out! Leave Harry with me." Lily reaches her arms toward where he's snuggled into my shoulder. I lean over and pass him gently to her. Lily clutches him to her as she cries—silent, heaving sobs, with no tears. The worst kind.

And I hate Voldemort. Dumbledore's correct, he's not completely dead, he was too clever for that, and I want revenge for Lily, for Harry, hell, even for James by extent.

I hate him with everything in me, and as long as I'm living, he will pay for what he's done.


	3. Chapter 2

_Thank you to everyone for your reviews and favorites! I hope you'll like this chapter. XOXO_

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER TWO**

 **PARDON**

I spend the next four hours in a chair across from Lily's new room in the recovery ward, watching Healer Greene go in and out, glaring at me each time he sees I'm still waiting. Around an hour after she's awoken, two Aurors in their billowing black robes enter her room. I don't see or hear anything for a long time after. Suddenly, maybe forty-five minutes later, she screams something about "Azkaban" and "rotting" and "now!"; the Aurors hurry out to the Apparition point by the nurse's station down the hall. They leave with the loud _CRACK_ of haste, and Greene bustles into her room again, slamming the door.

I sit for a while longer still. The hospital smells like disinfectant and sorrow. Healers and nurses pass by, with the quick shuffle-and-click of shoes on marble floor, the shift of overly-starched Medi-Wizard robes, and down the hall, someone screams a wrenching howl of loss. Mary comes from the room, holding a frail blonde woman who is collapsing in on herself. She's clutching a mint-green baby blanket to her chest, the worn silken edges woven between her fingers. I cringe, horrified, and look away.

I can't fathom if Lily had lived whist Harry died in that house in Godric's Hollow. Imagining the pain that would bring her is impossible, but it crushes my chest all the same. Losing the fetus must be painful enough; I'm grateful Harry is alive.

How, though? How is it possible that Harry lives? That either one of them live? That killing curse of the Dark Lord's was enough to rent a house from foundation to rafters. If the curse didn't kill the boy, the collapse of the building should have crushed them both. When I found them, the house was caved down like a crescent on its side, first floor and roof a heap of wood and dirt all around them. It was like a bubble surrounded them, Harry unconscious and bleeding in his cot, which was still miraculously intact, nestled in debris and dust, Lily's hand wrapped around a bar even as she lay inert. Harry only had a cut on the back of his head from the crib, which has healed since then. I don't know if Lily sustained any injuries—Greene has refused to discuss them with me.

Albus has a theory—of course he does. He doesn't trust me yet, still, so he refuses to tell me anything.

Down the hall, another nurse gives the grieving woman a sedating potion and sets her into a chair a few seats down from where I sit. Mary leaves the woman with the other nurse and heads toward me.

"Still waiting, eh?" she asks.

"Mm," I grunt. I'm beginning to grow worried for Harry. He hasn't eaten in a while, and I wonder if he's asleep in there. I'm surprised to find that I miss him after only a couple of hours.

"Come with me, get some fresh air," Mary suggests.

I shake my head. What if Lily decides to see me and I'm away? I want to prove to her that I'll be here for her, whatever she may need. Harry, too.

"C'mon, Severus. You've been in this building for over a week now. I've got a cigarette for you." Mary pats her breast pocket.

Merlin, I haven't had a smoke in ages. "Five minutes, that's all," I warn her as I get up. She leads me to a small stairwell leading up to the roof of the building. It's raining lightly, but I leave the makeshift eave over the stairwell; the rain is cold and refreshing, and I enjoy it even as I begin to shiver.

The strike of a match catches my attention as Mary lights two cigarettes. I take one from her and inhale deeply. The air itself becomes less heavy, my shoulders lift and I straighten my spine, unaware of my previous posture.

"Thank you," I mumble around the stick.

Mary nods with a small smile. It falls from her lips with a sigh. "So. When did she dump you?"

A surprised cough escapes my lungs. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's obvious. You're too obvious. You may want to work on that." She takes a last drag and grinds the cigarette out on her heel, ticking the remaining half into her pocket again. "A man doesn't care for another man's wife and child the way you have unless he loves her. What happened?"

Betrayal. Hunger for power. Hatred. Being scorned. Choosing the wrong side. "Too much," I sigh.

"Look, Severus, you're a good man." I interrupt her with a scoff. If she only knew. "But that woman's been through too much. Don't think you can just replace her husband like that—"

"I think nothing of the sort!" my voice cracks, unused to speaking above a whisper. "At one point, yes, I would have jumped at the mere thought, but I am _not_ that foolish boy anymore!"

Mary considers me for a moment before nodding. "That's what I thought. I'll talk to her, try to convince her to see you, but no promises. She's obviously still distraught." She sighs. "You ready to go in?" She rubs her arms, trying to warm up, and I nod, stub out the butt, and follow her back down the stairs. I cast a drying charm on myself and follow her down the hall to Lily's room. "Wait out here a moment." Mary slips behind the door, leaving me to my thoughts.

All I want is her forgiveness, her friendship again.

I grind my teeth. _Be honest with yourself, at least_ , I reprimand myself. The truth is, I would be content to have her friendship, but what I want more than anything is for her to love me. It's a strange place, that ledge where altruism and greed bleed into one another. I am not happy James Potter is dead, because it tortures Lily. However, a chance for her to consider me—however small—is something I cannot deny has crossed my mind. I have loved Lily for so long, pined for her for half of my life. I know no other way to think about her. I resolve, however, to put my own desires away, packed tightly in its own jail inside my chest, because her welfare is my first priority now—hers and Harry's and after all I have done, don't I owe her that much? I know I must admit the truth—that the attack on her family began with me, though if I had known Harry was the subject of that goddamned prophecy, I would have never…

My thoughts take a dark, well-beaten path in my brain. Who was I, why did I believe I had the right to say one person deserved to live or die? I understood Sybill's words, I knew what the Dark Lord planned. Who was I to say that any other baby should die, just not Harry? Logically, I know the answer. The Death Eaters were the only sense of loyalty I knew when I was younger. Combine that with that which I had never known—power—and I was blinded, made stupid by all I thought I knew. I hate myself evermore by these undeniable truths.

I can use it, though. Use it to love Lily and Harry, care for them the way that they deserve.

Eventually, I know I must tell Lily. But I am selfish, and I decide to wait, to bask in the hope I feel now for just a while longer.

I sit back down in the uncomfortable pink vinyl chair across from Lily's door. A few paces down the hall, the crying woman has left. I wonder where she is. How old her child was. What on earth happened.

As I'm sitting, a man comes up to me. He's wearing the yellow, close-fitting robes that identify volunteer workers. "Professor Severus Snape?" he asks.

I stand up, "yes, that's me."

"A letter just arrived for you in the owlry." He hands me a standard Hogwarts envelope, addressed to me at Lily's room, in Dumbledore's handwriting.

"Thank you."

The volunteer nods and turns to leave. I sit back down and open the letter.

 _Severus,_

 _I trust this finds you well. Now that Mrs. Potter is awake and well, your duties as Potions Professor are calling. Mr. Bench has proved to be entertaining to watch attempt to fill your shoes, but your students need you. Please respond with an estimation of your return._

 _Also, please relay to Mrs. Potter that I will come to visit her tomorrow at eleven in the morning._

 _Yours, Albus Dumbledore._

Translation: Your temporary replacement is an idiot, and now that your usefulness watching over still-James-Potter's-wife is over, remember you promised to be my bitch, you owe me, and I still don't trust you. Come back to Hogwarts soon, or else.

I swear and turn the letter over, digging into my breast pocket for a muggle pen. I reply that I will return the following Monday—it's Saturday now. I walk to to the nurse's station down the hall and a nurse sends it with a tap of her want to the owlry.

As I make my way back down the hall, Mary is just coming out. She shuts the door quietly and gives me a small smile.

"Well?"

"She's not holding any grudges, she's grateful that you looked after her boy, and she would like to speak with you."

"Now?"

Mary nods.

"That's much better than what I'd hoped for." I glance at her door, ajar. "How's she handling…you know. James."

"She's…handling. I think Harry helps. You would, too, you know."

I shake my head. "I'm not entirely sure about that."

"She's willing to see you. The fact that she wants company speaks for itself. Now, I have rounds to make, and you have a widow to comfort. I'm sure I'll see you around again, Professor Snape."

"I'm certain you will, Mary. You have my thanks."

Mary smiles again, touches my elbow, and turns to leave. I call out to her on impulse—"Mary." She turns, eyebrow cocked. "The child. In the other room. How old was…" my question trails off.

She sighs. "Strictly speaking, I'm not allowed to say," she confides as she crosses back to me. "She was four. There's a…strain of Dragon Pox medicine that contaminated, about six years ago. Apparently, the Potions Masters that manufacture it received the wrong kind of beetle wing. When it first came out, a whole lot of children got sicker from it—three died. We alerted the manufacturers, and they recalled the batch, put alerts out. We thought we'd seen the last of it then, but since the potion has a decade-long shelf life…I dunno. The mother bought it for her older children, forgot it in a cupboard, 'til her daughter caught the pox. Four years old." Mary shakes her head.

My throat's tight and dry as I try to swallow. "It's a tragedy."

Mary nods, "we've contacted the Potions department of the Ministry. There's not much more we can do at this point."

"What was her name?"

"I can't say, Professor, I'm sorry. I've said too much already."

I frown and nod. "I understand. Thank you, Mary, for everything."

"Of course, Severus. Good-bye."

I nod again at her, and turn to enter Lily's room.

My heart beats staccato in my ribs. My palm slips on the handle. As I enter, I see her sitting up in bed. Her hair is damp, plaited over her right shoulder, and Harry is laying upside-down between her legs; she's tickling his neck with the end of her braid, and he's laughing in a way I haven't heard him do. An involuntary smile breaches my lips at the sight.

I watch them playing for a moment before announcing my presence with a clearing of my throat.

Lily's head whips up to look at me, startled, then she offers me a small smile. "Severus," my name falling from her lips in anything other than contempt is foreign to my ears at this point, and I take a splinter of a second to marvel at it. Her eyes are puffy and red, her lips swollen from crying, her cheeks flushed. She's beautiful.

Harry sits up and sees me, a grin on his own face. He taps his pinky fingers together in a babyish attempt at his own sign for me—just a babyish letter _S_ at this point—and babbles an attempt at my name, "Tstheb, Tstheb". He's so incredibly smart. He reaches his arms out to me.

I have never, in my life, entered a room where everyone in it is obviously happy to see me. I recognize, and deliberately ignore, the notion that I should not let myself enjoy it, lest I become too familiar with this contentment washing over me.

"Good afternoon, Lily. How are you feeling?"

"Physically, I'm a bit tired, but all right." She doesn't mention emotionally, and I refuse to bring it up yet. If she ever chooses to confide in me, I'll have to prove that she can come to me with it first. "I'm glad Harry's ok. Thank you for taking care of him. It's more than I could have asked for." The boy is standing on the bed at this point, one hand on his mother's arm to steady himself, the other fat hand opening and closing at me. He repeats the same sound. "He seems to have taking a liking to you," she says with amusement.

"And I, him. May I?" I step toward her bed, reaching for him. Lily nods, and I pick Harry up. He immediately slumps over my shoulder, hand grasping the hair at the back of my skull, face in the crook of my neck. "Has he slept at all?"

Lily shakes her head slightly. I cross to the other side of her bed, where the rocking chair is, and begin to sway us back and forth.

"You're so good with him." Lily's astonished voice makes me smirk.

"I had a lot of help from the nurses," I admit. "He's an easy child to care for."

"Easier than at the school?"

"Merlin I abhor that place," I mutter. "I swear, we weren't as stupid and insolent as those children."

Lily chuckles at me, "Severus, you have never had patience for other children, even when you _were_ a child. What on earth gave you the notion to become a teacher? You always said you wanted to create and improve spells and potions. You've always shad a talent for it."

Her compliment all but makes me blush, and I feel foolish and proud at once. "I-I'm sure Albus told you that I came to him, ready to switch sides?" Lily nods once. Though I wasn't permitted to formally join the Order of the Phoenix, they knew about my so-called _change of heart_.

Harry's breath is hot and steady on my neck, and I know that he's fallen asleep. He must have been exhausted to do so this quickly. I stand and take him to lay in the cot in the corner of the room. "One of the conditions of gaining his trust was that I be nearby at all times for a while. I'm surprised he's let me stay at the hospital as long as I have, honestly." I peer out the window at the dreary street. People pass in a hurry to get out of the rain. I miss being out on the rooftop already, where it's fresh and cool.

"And I thank you for that. Mary said you hardly left the room the entire week I was under.

"I couldn't leave Harry alone. For all I know, they would have taken him to your sister's."

"Ugh. I can only imagine what would have happened if Tuney and Vernon had him."

I pace to the other corner and flip open the thermostat cover. "Do they even know how to treat children?"

Lily sighs. "They have a son, a few months older than Harry. I've never met him."

"Poor boy." I return back to Harry's cot and pull the blanket back over him, since he likes to kick it off.

"Severus."

"Hm?" I turn to look at Lily.

"Come sit down. You're pacing. It's making me nervous."

"My apologies." I sit back in the chair. We sit in silence for a few long moments. I can hear Harry's light snoring in the cot and know that he's flipped onto his back. I revel in silence, normally, but in this instance I cannot stand it. "I'm surprised you haven't had any other visitors. Where are the other Marauders, if not here?"

Lily's emerald eyes flash in anger. "It's a long story, a huge misunderstanding, but the Aurors are dealing with it. I expect Sirius and Remus should be here soon."

I mentally prepare myself to be elsewhere when they arrive. "You—I mean—if you want to tell me…" I growl, agitated, and run a hand over the scruff on my chin and cheeks. "Look, Lily, I'm sorry. I'm so incredibly sorry for all of my actions, my word. You can't know how much I detest my actions of the past five years. I'm so sorry, Lily, and if you don't forgive me, I'll understand, but just know that I am here for whatever you need of me. I'll continue to care for Harry during your stay here, I'm here to talk to should you need, whatever you ask of me, Lily I will do it—"

Her chilly hand comes over mine, which I now realize is gripping my hair painfully. I feel foolish for my outburst, but she just gives me a kind, small smile. "Severus, shh. It's over with now. I forgave you a long time ago. Let's just put it behind us."

It's wrong that she's soothing me when her husband has just been murdered by a man I called Master barely more than a year ago. The kind touch feels wonderful, and I'm loath to pull my hand away from hers, setting it in my lap. "I apologize," my voice cracks and I clear my throat.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Severus, not anymore; it's water under the bridge."

A bridge I had doused in kerosene and set ablaze years ago, I think, but know better than voice.

"What I need right now is a friend, and it would be nice to talk to someone who listens, instead of getting agitated and interrupting. Sirius is dear, but he gets…rather passionate. Remus, I don't even know if he's heard yet."

"Surely Black would have told him?" The last I'd heard, Black and Lupin had rented a flat over a shop in Diagon Alley. They'd been inseparable—and insufferable—since graduating Hogwarts.

Lily shake her head. "Greyback's been trying to recruit Remus. He attacked Sirius a few months ago, and Remus left to protect him. We hear from Remus every few weeks, but there's never a location in his letters. Sirius has been in Azkaban since the attack."

My eyebrows nearly touch my hairline. "Why on earth?"

Lily sighs. "When Albus suggested we go into hiding—by way of Fidelius Charm—we originally chose Sirius as our Secret-Keeper. Sirius was worried that he would be too obvious of a choice, though. At the last second, and without Albus knowing, we chose Peter…" Lily trails off, and I look up from my hands in my lap to see she's crying. I pick up the tissues from the bedside table and place them next to her leg. Lily takes my hand once again, and I let her hold it , if that what gives her strength. "He—Peter—he betrayed us. He told You-Know-Who where we were hiding. He's the reason James is dead and I've lost most of my power. He's the reason Harry's been without me, and I lost—I lost—" Lily breaks down, sobbing. She clutches my sleeve and I'm yanked closer by the strength grief has given this woman. I'm awkwardly leaning over, my arse barely on the chair, cradling her to my chest. I cast Muffliato around us, lest she wake the baby, and let my wand fall next to her, enveloping her trembling shoulders.

There are no words I can say, no reassurances I can give to soothe her, so I just rock Lily gently, similarly as I do her son.

We sit like this for minutes that feel like hours and seconds at the same time, and the sky has begun to darken when the door opens. I look up over Lily's red, messy head to see Black rush in. When he sees me, he goes instinctively for his wand, but comes away with nothing but an agitated face. I already have mine back in my hand, pointed at him, waiting.

"Snivellus!" I nearly cast a hex on mere principle. "What are you doing here?" he growls.

I lower the quieting spell and go to cast it around Harry, but it's too late' Black's shout has awaken him. I pull myself away from Lily, who dabs her eyes and cheeks with a tissue. My shirt is thoroughly wet from where she was against me.

"Severus, can you bring Harry to me, please. Sirius, if you're going to be here, you're going to be respectful of Severus. I refuse to be your mother right now."

"Respectful!" Black scoffs.

Harry's finger flicks my bottom lip so it pops as I carry him to his mum. It's a spot of humor I allow myself to feel for a moment in this cock-up of a situation.

"This is the man who called you a-a-a you-know-what! He's a Death Eater!"

"And he has been vouched for by Albus, that alone is good enough for me. Not to mention that he has been at my side, taking care of your godson this whole time I've been unconscious. He pulled us from that house, he has been a double agent for over a year, and you are not a boy anymore, Sirius!" Lily's eyes spark with anger, and Merlin, if it's the last thing I do, I'll never be on the receiving end of that glare again. "You are no longer children, you are grown men who've been through a war, and it's about damn time you acted like it, Sirius. Severus has asked for my forgiveness, and I have given it to him, and that is my business alone."

Black glares between Lily and I, and seems to be attempting to come up with some reason to continue to hate me.

"Black," I speak. "I've come here with no intentions of anything, except to help Lily and Harry. I want nothing from her. I'll be civil to you, because that's what Lily's asking of me. I would hope you plan on doing the same." I keep my voice measured, my words careful and neutral.

"So you'd better get used to seeing his face, Black," Lily says, and it's more threat than warning.

Black sighs. "Fine."

Because I want to prove to Lily that I will do whatever she asks of me—and to make the dog squirm—I hold my hand out to Black. With a clench of his jaw, he takes mine and we shake once.

"Good. Now, come here, Sirius." Lily holds her arms out to him, and Harry is sandwiched in an embrace that lasts quite a while. I play off the awkwardness of my presence by retrieving a fresh nappy for Harry and folding his blankets. Then I have to wait, feeling ridiculous, until they part.

When they do, Lily sees the things I've laid out and smiles. "Oh. Thank you, Severus."

"Of course. Harry. Toilet?" I make the sign with my hand and he mimics it clumsily, crawls to me, and lets me pick him up and take him to the adjoining bathroom. He sits on the toilet, pretends to use it, and I wrap him in a clean cloth and pull his trousers up.

Lily has fresh tears in her eyes when I bring him out. Black has a mixture of surprise and suspicion on his face. I ignore it and set Harry down on the floor by the little cache of toys he's gained from his little fan club of nurses.

"Sirius just came from Azkaban," Lily informs me.

Stunned, I turn to him. "Oh?"

Black nods, tucks his hair behind an ear. He sits on the edge of Lily's bed. "No one knew Lily and James changed the Secret-Keeper from me to Peter. He must have been playing both sides, but why…I cornered him in the street as he was running, before the Aurors came for me. I just wanted his confession, an answer…but he put on a show, screaming how I'd betrayed our friends. I aimed my wand at him, and Peter blew up the street. Killed a dozen muggles. Took the coward's way out—probably knew I'd make his death all the more painful. All they found of him was a finger. Even his wand was too damaged to get a read on. Mine, too." He pats habitually at the holster in his sleeve. "They took me to Azkaban pending trial, but after Lily set the Aurors straight this morning, they took me straight to the Ministry, fed me Veritaserum on the spot. I'll be granted a full pardon officially tomorrow, but they let me free so long as I don't kick up a fuss. Ministry image and all that," he grimaces.

"So…Peter's dead?" Lily asks in a timid voice.

Black nods.

I stand in my spot at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and calculating. Why hadn't the Dark Lord informed me of another double agent in the ranks? Had he thought it too risky? If he thought for a moment I was untrustworthy, he would have exterminated me on the spot. So why?

"Severus. Stop. It's not your fault," Lily whispers.

My head snaps up at her. I glance at Black, who's watching Harry play. I can't tell her. Not yet, not with Black here, and not so soon after we've reconciled.

Just a bit longer, I delude myself. A bit longer.


	4. Chapter 3

_Hey, all! Hope you enjoy this installment. Thank you so so so much for all the reviews, favorites and follows, you have no idea how much every one means to me. I look forward to more from my readers, each one spurs on my muse. I double and triple checked it, but if I've missed a typo, let me know please. Lots of love-XOXO._

* * *

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER THREE**

 **RENEWAL**

* * *

"Severus," Lily says, "Why don't you go home?"

I meet her eyes, trying not to look as wounded as I feel. I nod, however, and stand from the chair.

"Come back tomorrow, please. If you don't mind. I'm sure you're exhausted, and I need to talk with Sirius about…about the funeral."

Relief eases the tension in my back. I nod once more. "Of course. I'll be over at noon, if that's all right. Harry will be all right here?" I don't want to leave him here if it's going to be too much for her as she's still recovering.

"Sirius won't mind taking him to his flat, right?" She glances at Black, who nods. "I'm thankful to you for how you've taken care of him, Severus. Truly."

"Of course," I repeat. I would much rather take Harry back with me to Hogwarts than leave him with the dog, but I know it's out of my control. "I'll see you tomorrow." I turn to say good-bye to the boy, but he's distracted with a little pile of wooden blocks surrounding him, and I don't want to interrupt him. I send a curt nod to Black, and leave.

I could use the floo down by the front desk, but decide instead to Disapparate outside of the grounds to the school. The highlands are even wetter than London, with black clouds and electricity in the air. The wind is cool and sweet and sharp with the forest as it enters my lungs. I breathe deeply even as it stings them. Except for the brief interlude on the roof of the hospital, I haven't stepped outside in a week. The rain cleanses the stink of the place off my robes. I've kept up on the refreshing charms every day, on both my clothes and my body, but there's only so much they can do after four or five days. I need a shower, a hot meal, and some Dreamless Sleep.

Instead, what awaits me is none other than Albus Dumbledore, in scarlet and silver robes, his mostly-grey beard neatly tied with a silver cord. His half-moon glasses glint in the dancing firelight from the Entrance Hall. I despise those glasses—his vision is perfect, as perfect as his knowledge and manipulation of body language, which he uses them for.

Children are flowing in every direction to and from the Great Hall—it is diner time, after all. When they notice me, their voices drop to a murmur in each other's ears.

"Severus," Albus greets me.

"Headmaster," I reply coolly. "How did you know I was coming back now?"

"Healer Greene informed me when you left." Thunder reverberates in the windows, and my anger echoes it.

"Spying on me?"

"On the contrary. It is Healer Greene that believes you should be under supervision. I've all but ignored every update save for this one. I wished to speak to you before you retire."

For the love of all that is holy… "I would like to take a moment to eat something before—"

"It will be brief," Albus interrupts. He turns on his heel and starts toward his office, leaving me no choice but to follow.

The castle is chilly with the looming storm. The rain pelts the Headmaster's tall windows as he sits with his back to them, and he gives no indication he's even noticed the thunder.

"My boy, I wanted to talk to you about Mrs. Potter."

I raise a single eyebrow, but refuse to open my mouth. What is his end game, I think. I know he's going to be seeing Lily tomorrow morning. Why is it so urgent he ask me about her now?

"How did she seem once she woke up?" he presses.

Annoyed, I answer, "Exhausted. Grief-stricken, yet grateful she and the boy are alive."

"Did she seem…normal?"

Is he really asking me this? I sigh with incredible weariness. "As compared to what? The last time we spoke, six years ago? Hardly."

"There's no need for that, Severus," Albus chides. "I merely wish to know how she is coping with the whole ordeal." He plays with the tassel dangling from his beard as he considers me. I recognize the manipulation, the silent interrogation in his stance. His silence, the nodding of his head, the collected tone of his voice. I refuse to quail under it.

"As well as can be expected, Headmaster. If that is all...?"

"One more thing, my boy. I wish to ask you one favor—keep an eye on Mrs. Potter. Ensure that she is safe, assist her adjustment to life after the war."

I am instantly suspicious. "Of course. May I ask who you've assigned to 'assist' Carter Thomas' widow to life without her husband? Or the Longbottoms, as they begin their life raising their grandson, as his parents languish in St. Mungo's?"

The glint in Albus' eyes hardens as I call him out. I could care less. Our deal is done; the Dark Lord is gone, Lily no longer needs protecting. There is no real reason for my continued presence at this place, save for my strange attachment to the stone walls. It has been my home for the only half of my life that wasn't pure torment, despite Potter and his crew of miscreants. As Lily reminded me, I used to dream of my spells being renowned, my Potions—creations of my own expertise and fingertips—in the cupboards of every hospital and apothecary.

"Remember your promise to me, Severus." That stern fatherly voice snaps me off the ledge of patience I've been dangling from.

I stand on shaking legs, absolute fatigue stealing any composure I have left. "Our deal is done, fulfilled. Lily lives. I left the Death Eaters and worked as a spy for you. The war is over, and my debt is paid. I have hardly slept, hardly eaten in over a week. If you wish to continue this discussion tomorrow, contact me with appropriate time to prepare. No longer will I jump when you tell me to. Good evening, Headmaster." I turn and sweep out of the Headmaster's office, robe snapping with a finality my words never seem to have.

Albus does nothing to stop me, and it is perhaps the wisest thing he has done in my presence. After all, he still needs a Potions professor.

Students scurry out of my way as I make my way down to the dungeons. I call up on a House Elf to bring my food, and I attack a steaming silver platter of beef stew, roasted vegetables, and mashed potatoes. Normally, I would take a mug of tea with me to read in bed before sleeping, and it's murder on my nerves trying to convince the well-meaning elf holding the drink in shaking, knobbly hands that he should not punish himself for his presumption. Finally I wrestle him away from the fire he's lit on the stove and order him back to the kitchens. I turn off the burner and instead take a flask of Dreamless Sleep, chased by a Sleeping Draught. As an alchemist, I know better than to mix the two, but the risks and side-effects are small, and I'll be damned if I'm waking up in less than twelve hours.

The potions give me enough time to use the toilet and wash my face, and I shed my clothes and fall into my bed forgoing pajamas. My last thought before blissful unconsciousness is that I hope Black remembered Harry's favourite red blanket from the hospital.

* * *

My mind wakes before my body is ready. I can't bring myself to regret taking both potions, however. I'm rested and have finally slept enough. I lay for a few minutes, unable to move, until the effects of my potions have worn off. My back hurts from laying in one position all night, and the other side effects of the Sleep Draught make me feel like a teenager again, and painfully aware of my nakedness. I am grateful to my younger self for perfecting privacy charms; not that I have any visitors down here.

After ten minutes or so, I'm able to lift myself from my bed and shuffle to the adjoined bathroom.

My quarters are very tight. I have a large claw foot bathtub made of gleaming hammered copper, and it is one of few indulgences I allow myself. As the water fills, I take a vial of pain potion for the stiffness in my back.

After I've bathed, shaved, and dressed in a white button-down shirt and black slacks, I go to the Spartan kitchen and make myself a couple of eggs. The kitchen is in the opposite corner of the same rectangle as my living room. It's a small sink with limited, bare workspace and a round table in the corner with three chairs—one used only by me and two overloaded with books and papers.

Following the events and excitement of the past week, it all feels insanely and surreally normal.

The clock on the mantle in the other corner of the room says it's half-past eleven. I throw on my outer robe and toss a handful of floo powder into the fireplace. As it leaps green, I enter and call out, "Leaky Cauldron!" The fireplace spews me out gracelessly. I shake the soot from my hair and use the provided brush to remove it from my clothes. It's busy and loud; never one to miss a patron, Tom the barkeep nods to me as I pass. There's a short line in the courtyard of people hurrying to do their shopping on their lunch breaks. A woman holds the entryway open for others in the wave of people to pass through, and I nod my thanks to her.

Diagon Alley is busy, but not too crowded, and the scents of the food vendors and apothecaries carry out under the layers of chimney smoke. They make my stomach growl despite having just eaten. I give in to a kebab roasted under the cherry red awning of a portly vendor with an impressive mustache, and am not disappointed.

After tossing the stick into a bin, I hurry into Twilfitt and Tatting's to make arrangements with the owner to send Lily some clothing necessities and open an account in my name so she can pick some things out after she's released. Until the investigation of the house is done, the Aurors assigned to her case can't release any of her possessions—what few weren't destroyed, anyway—and that includes the key to her Gringott's vault. Without that, she can't get money, and can't give an impression to shopkeepers to at least open an account with them. I know she can't run about in a stolen hospital gown for that long.

I pick out an outfit for her to wear now of a simple cotton shirt and drawstring pajama bottoms. I do the same at Madame Primpernelle's along with picking out the shampoo and conditioner I know she likes, along with other bath necessities, and at Flourish and Blott's find a blank powder-blue notebook, ink and a raven feather quill. A few bright picture books catch my eye, and I pick up a few for Harry.

By the time I'm back to the Leaky to floo to St. Mungo's, I'm running nearly a quarter of an hour late. Better late than run the risk of meeting Albus after he's visited Lily, I tell myself.

As I come up to Lily's room, I can hear Harry crying and Lily trying to comfort him. I knock on the ajar door and let myself in. Harry's slumped against Lily's shoulder, his face red and streaked with tears, and he's kicking his feet against her stomach. Neither Black nor Albus are to be seen.

"Severus, hello," Lily calls over Harry's wailing. She shoots me an apologetic look. "I don't know what's wrong with him."

Harry catches sight of me and reaches fat arms up, crying harder. I drop my bags at the door and come to pick him up and he falls over my own shoulder, melting into me and wrapping his arms as tightly as they can around my neck. He takes a while to calm, but finally his cries subdue into sniffles and the occasional hiccup.

"He really loves you," Lily says in wonder. "He was up crying all night with Sirius, and he calmed when he saw me, but once started crying again, he wouldn't stop for anything. He's been inconsolable for a while. Dumbledore had to cut his visit short because Harry was just crying over him." Lily stands from the bed, looking uncomfortable in her mint hospital gown and slippers. She wraps a white bathrobe around herself.

I'm not sure what to say to that, so I just bounce Harry a bit and rub his back.

"Did you get the sleep you needed?" Lily asks. She stretches as she walks to the small table in the corner of the room, where a light meal has been sitting under a stasis charm.

"I did. Yourself?" I sit across from her. Harry remains buried in my neck.

"Not really. I finally gave in around three and took some Dreamless, but it wore off pretty quickly. I've been up since six. Sirius came by to drop Harry with me, but left when Albus showed up. He should be back pretty soon."

"Is there any word on when you'll be released?"

"Not yet," she sighs. "Perhaps in a few days. The-the funeral's going to be next weekend. I hope I can get my Gringott's key back before then, or else I'm going to it in this." She plucks at the collar of the gown she's wearing.

I clear my throat, a bit nervous. "Actually…about that…I opened an account for you in my name at a couple of shops. For whatever necessities you may need."

She gasps. "Severus."

"I apologize if it's presumptuous, but I assumed your key would be held for now. Everything left in the house, am I correct?"

Lily nods once. "Thank you. I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

"There's no need for that. Just do what you need to."

"No," she shakes her head. "I'll pay you back." It's said firmly, without room for argument, and I know better than to.

Instead, I summon the bags to the table and give her the papers with the passwords to the accounts I set up for her at Twilfitt's, Primpernelle's, and Blott's, along with the change of clothes I already bought and the toiletries. I pull the books out for Harry and place them at the corner of the table and pass the bag back to her. I turn Harry around with a bit of effort to unclench his arms and show him a children's edition of Fantastic Beasts.

"This is so kind of you. Thank you."

I shake my head, "it's nothing."

Lily mimics my action, and I see tears falling down her cheeks. Her hands come up to cover her eyes. "I'm sorry," she sniffles.

Harry lifts his head from the book and points at Lily. "Muh-muh-muh," he babbles at me.

I am no good at providing comfort. In our youth, Lily seldom needed it, and in the rare moment I showed distress, I never accepted it from her, so I never really learned how to give it. Nevertheless, I stretch out a hand to Lily's forearm and squeeze gently. She moves one hand from her face and clasps mine, twining our fingers together in a death lock.

Harry is an empathetic boy. He climbs onto the table and weasels into his mother's arms. She gives a wet sob of a chuckle and kisses his hair. She squeezes my hand again and lets go of it. "Oh, Harry, it's all right. It's going to be fine, my love."

"Whatever you need of me," I reiterate quietly. Lily nods slightly. Harry squirms to be let down and as soon as he's free he toddles over to his toys. My eyes follow him and I see the red crocheted blanket he favors, folded neatly where I left it in the cot last night. "Black forgot that blanket. I'll bet that was half the trouble he had with Harry last night."

Lily turns to look at it. "Oh. You pulled that out—I didn't even notice it. James' mum made it when we told her I was pregnant. It was the last thing she made before she and Fleamont died." Her voice thickens up with the promise of fresh tears and the swallows them down. "Ahem. Erm—so, do you start back at Hogwarts soon? Dumbledore said he was anxious to have you back."

I grasp at the blatant change in subject. "I-yes. Tomorrow morning, yes. I'm not sure if I'll stay much longer, but I'll remain at least for the remainder of the semester."

"Then what will you do?"

"Now that the Dark Lord is gone, I can pursue my own interests, instead of his or Albus'. I may pursue my Mastery in Potions. I have a few potions and a spell or two I may submit to the Ministry, once refined a bit. I haven't quite made up my mind yet." I pause and judge her demeanor before asking, "and you? Have you had any thoughts?"

She shakes her head. Her hair is a mess piled on top of her head. "Mm…not much. Just taking care of Harry. I'll probably move back into the home we lived in before we went into hiding. From there…" she blows a puff of air. "I have no idea. Take care of Harry, that's my priority now."

I know money is no issue after marrying into the Potter line. She could live comfortable the rest of her life and Harry's grandchildren wouldn't know a knut had been touched. "That sounds like a good plan. What have the Healers said?"

Lily lifts the corner up from the cover on her lunch, which ends the stasis charm. She picks up her fork, spears a piece of tomato, and considers it for a moment before putting the fork down and pushing the tray away. She sighs, which sounds more like a growl. "I'm stuck like this. They estimate I've lost around forty percent of my magic. I'm very weak…it affects how well I can perform a spell, as opposed to which ones I can cast. Unless it's a very powerful one. I doubt I'll ever cast a Patronus again."

"C-could you show me?"

Lily shakes her head. "Not now. Even the littlest bit tires me out incredibly. Greene—gosh, he's an arse—had me practice Wingardium Leviosa. I rose a quill a millimeter off the table and broke out in a cold sweat. They suspect I'll just need some time and I'll get my strength back. At least I'm alive, right?" she makes a watery attempt at a smile and I return it.

"All of your injuries are healed, though?"

She nods. "For the most part. I have a gash on my chest they haven't been able to heal. It's scabbed over, it'll probably leave me with a scar."

"Have they not given you a salve for healing?"

She shakes her head, "no, they have. It just seems unlikely it'll do any good. Maybe Muggle medicine…" she trails off. "Anyway, it doesn't bother me. Battle scars, eh?" She wiggles her eyebrows and I let out a chuckle despite myself.

"Harry. Lunch?" She calls over to the boy. He looks up disinterestedly at her offered apple and turns back to the toys he's methodically emptying and returning to the bin they belong in. "He hasn't eaten much lately. Too much excitement, perhaps. Did he eat much for you?"

"Yes. He all but made himself sick at each meal. He has quite the appetite normally."

"Mm."

"I'm sure you're right. He's just excited to have you back."

Lily smiles a bit at that, looking back at the boy adoringly.

A knock comes at the door, and Mary pokes her head in. "Good afternoon, Lily. Oh! Severus, good to see you."

"And you, Mary," I reply.

Harry drools a grin up at her and comes to tug on her robes. Mary picks him up and kisses his head. "And hello to you, too."

"Careful, Mary. You've made a new boyfriend. Kevin might get jealous," Lily sniggers.

"Ha. Funny, Lily," she replies, full of sarcasm. "Are you ready for a shower?"

Lily looks surprised. "Oh. Now?"

"'Fraid so. Unless you want it later, then it'll have to be Davey."

"Now's fine, then. Severus, would you mind watching Harry?"

"Of course not."

Lily grabs the bags with the toiletries and clothes off the table and Mary puts the boy in my arms then leads Lily to the bathroom across from the foot of the bed, shutting the door quietly behind them.

I stand with Harry and take him to the rocking chair, which has been moved next to his toys and cot. I summon the red blanket and one of the books I brought—it's a pop-up of moving dragons, with little poems of their characteristics. He's particularly enthralled with the gleaming, shimmering Peruvian Vipertooth, slithering its way along a 3-D jungle, and I must read it six times for him.

 _Deep in the jungles of Peru_

 _Lives a dragon no bigger than you_

 _Don't be deceived—_

 _It's time you leave—_

 _Or Styx will be your rendezvous_

There's a bit of information about its ties to Quidditch and Dragon Pox at the bottom, but it's for older children mostly, and he grows bored without a poetic cadence to accompany it.

Lily's only been in the bathroom a few minutes when familiar voices enter the room, followed by the morons they belong to.

Again, Black greets me with the little nickname he so favors. "Snivellus. Surprised to see you here."

"Why?" I ask, not looking up from Harry playing with the Vipertooth's flickering tongue. "Are you deaf, or has your memory been altered? I told Lily in your presence I'd be here today, at this time."

There's a shuffling of feet and I look up to see Lupin with a hand on Black's chest. "Stop it. Now. You promised Lily." He eyes me next. "Both of you did."

I grind my teeth against a retort and simply return my attention to Harry. He's giggling as the dragon playfully nips his fingers.

"Where is Lily?" Lupin asks. He sits at the table.

"In the shower."

Remus glances at the bathroom door. He must have returned last night or this morning, and he looks travel-weary for it, on top of generally looking unwell. Hiding out has taken its toll on him—his clothes re patched and frayed, his face gaunt and covered in unkempt facial hair. He looks more worn than I suppose he should, given that the full moon is two days away. The pallor of his face casts a deep and obvious contrast against the scars on his face. I wonder if he's had access to Wolfsbane in hiding.

"Lupin." I clear my throat, appalled at myself. "Have you taken Wolfsbane over the past three days?"

Black sneers, "what business is it of yours?"

Lupin rests a hand on his partner's arm in a calming way. "No, I haven't. Since I haven't shown up for my portion the past three months, the Ministry would put me under monitoring if I were to show up for my dose now. I may need to go back into hiding, and they'd be so suspicious I would be arrested on the spot."

Three months with full, incredibly painful transformations. I can't imagine it. "What about private brewers?"

Black casts a guilty look at Lupin. "All private brewers we know who are willing to work with a werewolf are in good standing with the Black family and their friends. No one would make it for someone associated with an outcast of the family."

Contrary to what most think of me, I am not blind or indifferent to the pain of others. Lycanthropy is a condition that has long fascinated and aroused empathy in me. It was not two-year-old Lupin's fault that bastard Greyback attacked him, and yet he is treated as though he deserves to be outlawed for simply living, despite having never attacked anyone. I do admit to a large amount of spite toward him in particular—had he not been friends with Black and Potter, I would have offered my assistance years earlier. All that's over now, I remind myself. A truce has been built between Black and I, and despite my continued disdain for the dog, I will uphold it. That extends to Lupin.

So, I set Harry onto the floor with the book (the foolhardy boy is still tempting that damned paper dragon and _giggling_ when it snaps at him) and come to sit at the third chair at the table. Lupin meets my eye, while Black clenches his fists.

"Not all private brewers."

Lupin's eyebrows shoot up. "You?"

"Yes."

"No. Absolutely not," Black pipes up.

I turn to him in anger, "let your wife speak for himself," I snap.

"Both of you shut up," We hear the water turn off in the bathroom. Lupin turns to me. "You would do that?"

"Yes," I state simply. Everything in my life recently has given me a fresh start. Why not this?

"What would you charge?"

"Simply the cost of the supplies. Depending if they're in season, four to six galleons per batch, and a batch per month. I don't have any in stock at the moment, and it wouldn't do much anyway, since you haven't taken it the full week before the moon. But next month, you have my promise."

Lupin reaches a hand out to me. "My thanks. I'm in debt to you."

"No debt," I say sternly before I shake his hand.

Black looks back and forth between us, visibly swallowing insults and resentment back down his throat. It looks painful. Poor lamb.

The bathroom door opens and Lily comes out first, hair damp and wound at the top of her head. The lilac color of the shirt the saleslady picked for her looks lovely on her looks refreshed.

"Hey, Lils," Black calls.

"Oh, Siri—Remus!" she drops the towel from her arm in surprise and hurries to him, winding her arms around him awkwardly as he remains in his seat. I can hear Lily begin crying into his neck again and look away uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I can't control it," she blubbers.

I check to make sure Harry isn't worried for his mother, but see he's slumped onto the hard marble floor, red blanket wrapped around his waist and book open in front of him. The Vipertooth is sleeping, too. I stand and put him in his cot to distance myself from the moment Lily and Lupin are sharing.

"It's all right, Lily," he comforts her, and Black meets his eyes morosely.

Mary exits the room and comes back after a moment with a clear glass jar of Scaley's Scar Cream and waits for Lily to calm down. Lupin stands as she detaches herself from him and wipes her eyes. "We'll get through it, babe," he murmurs and she nods.

Again, I feel like an intruder into an incredibly personal moment. I wonder if I should leave.

"Er—sorry, Lily, but I need to get going to other patients. Can I do the cream quickly?" Mary interrupts.

"Yes, sorry, Mary." Lily comes to stand in front of the nurse, and with gloved hands she scoops a bit of the paste and holds it up. Lily lowers the left side of her shirt and I grimace as I see the scab that will inevitably scar. It's interesting looking, and I follow Mary's fingers over the branches and forks of the red angry lines.

It looks exactly like a bolt of lightning.


	5. Chapter 4

_Good day, everyone! Thank you for joining me for another chapter. I'd like to address a question a couple of reviewers asked-I purposefully had Severus not have his Mastery in Potions, because I wanted something for him to strive for other than Lily in this story. I know he's a teacher, but given the circumstances around how he got the position, I figured Dumbledore would overlook that based on how badly he needed to keep an eye on Severus and the fact that he was already so exemplary at potions already. There's a few other questions, and I loooove the speculation, but you'll just have to wait and see! :D_

 _Also-it has come to my attention that there is a possibility of someone copy-and-pasting reviews, basically he same person posting reviews under more than one profile. While I'm flattered for each and every review, and love that a reader feels that strongly, I was accused of doing it myself to boost review numbers. So, please stop. It kinda makes me look like a dick. Thank you._

 _Aaaannyyyywaaaaaayyyy...I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for all new readers for your favorites, follows, and reviews. Love you all! XOXO_

* * *

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

 **FREEDOM**

* * *

I remain at St. Mungo's for nearly three hours. I play with Harry and discuss the finer details about the Wolfsbane potion with Lupin. He's surprisingly good company, and interested in the process of it, asking questions. He wonders if the taste of it could be improved, and I consider it for a bit. "Perhaps. Adding mint would counteract the armadillo bile—" Lupin makes a face at the word _bile_ "—but if I can find a way to encapsulate the bile so that it emulsifies after it hits the stomach acid, it won't have time to mix with the mint…theoretically, of course…"

"Just so long as you don't remind me there's bile in it when you give it to me," he replies with a smirk, which I return.

Healer Greene comes to check on Lily at one point and shoos us out of the room, despite her insisting that she'll just tell us what he has to say anyway. I take Harry down to the cafeteria and feed him a bit of oatmeal. When I return to the room, Lily, Lupin and Black are speaking with a funeral director. They fall silent as I open the door, and I immediately regret entering.

"Pardon me if I'm interrupting," I mutter.

"It's all right, Severus. We're nearly finished anyhow," Lily assures me, eyes teary.

"I'll wait outside." I take Harry with me to the hallway. He plops down on the floor and begins to play with his shoes. We've been waiting just a few minutes when Mary comes around a corner at the opposite end of the hall; she waves as she sees us. She taps her wand to the pad the nurses clock in and out of. She says to her co-workers behind the desk and comes toward me. She sits next to me and glances across the hall at Lily's door.

"She's very brave," she comments after a beat.

I nod in agreement. "She always has been. Bloody Gryffindor," I say without any real bite.

"She puts on a strong face for you and her friends, and especially Harry, but she cries at night. That's what the graveyard shift nurse told me."

My chest clenches at the thought. "I should assume so. She's lost her husband and a dear friend in one fell swoop. Many of her possessions, nearly her son, her own life…it's a lot to process." Had I lost Lily, even being estranged as we were, there's no telling what kind of person I would have become. Bitter and angry and heinous, I should think.

Over the past week or so, Mary's been Lily's nurse almost consistently. Harry's fallen in love with her (he's crawling into her lap and tugging at her earring as soon as she sits down) over the time we've spent together. If I had friends, I would say she had become one during our time spent together. Her hair is a ginger red, cut short to her head, and I have the impression it's been only recently cut, because I've seen her more than once try to tuck it behind her ear or flip it over her shoulders out of habit. Her eyes are a dark blue, her skin an olive tone that looks out of place—but not bad—with her hair and eyes. She's nearly a foot shorter than I am, reaching barely to my chest. Physically alone, she seems unassuming, but there's something in the way she holds herself—strong and straight—that says she's a force to be reckoned with. More than once, I've seen Mary charge like a bull from one emergency to another; to see her come at me like that, I would fear for my life. She's sweet when called for, though, and wise despite her youthful face.

"Those other men seem to lift her spirits a bit," she remarks. "Not you, though."

I glare at her and open my mouth to retort, but she keeps speaking, "you allow her to grieve. You don't need anything from her. The other two can relate, are sympathetic, but they've lost James Potter, too, they have to mourn him. You haven't lost him, you don't need to grieve for him, so she can have your full support without worrying about taking care of you, too. It's a very important job to have, and she's incredibly fortunate to have you." I look away, embarrassed. I see her hand snake out to Harry's thigh and he squirms and squeals as she tickles him. "Harry's fortunate for you, too," she adds with a smile in her voice.

I think on this for a full minute, not quite being able to grasp it, before Mary speaks again. "This is my address. Owl me sometime. I suspect this may be the last time we get to speak so candidly here. I'd love to hear from you." Mary passes me a scrap of parchment for a flat in Ipswich, and leans over to plant a kiss on my cheek, leaving me stunned. She places Harry in my lap and gives him a kiss also. "Take care of that baby, Severus." She walks to the Disapparation point hurriedly and— _pop_ —she's gone.

I play with Harry for a bit until the funeral director leaves, and I follow him shortly after giving the boy back to his mother. I floo directly to my quarters at Hogwart's this time, unwilling to risk meeting Albus. With a wave of my wand, the candles are lit. It's far too dark with just these few, I decide. I replicate them and make a mental note to buy more—they will disappear after a few days. I light the ones in the simple wrought iron chandelier, the first time they've been used.

The light shining from the ceiling illuminates the dust and cobwebs around my living spaces, the fingerprints on the glass coffee table, the floor badly in need of a broom and mop. Instead of using magic, I decide to clean them manually to keep my mind occupied. I conjure a duster and begin with the cobwebs hanging from the chandelier and candelabras, the top of the kitchen cupboards and the doorways. I scrub the counters and the tables, sweep then sour the floors on my hands and knees. With gentle hands and a fresh cloth, I clean off the baubles I have resting on the mantle, the only sentiment in my whole place on display, and very few. A picture of my mother and I shortly after I was born in a maple frame, a cheap plastic snowglobe of the New York skyline which was one of her only dear possessions from her own rubbish childhood, an amethyst pendulum I'd bought on a trip to Morocco, a couple of antique poetry books, and a preserved flower from my mother's funeral. These items are worthless in terms of monetary value—even the amethyst is impure and cloudy—but if anyone tried to take them from me they would be in a bed next to the Longbottoms within an hour.

I roll the rugs up and call upon a House-Elf to shake them out, and when he returns I have my bed stripped and I send the sheets with him to be laundered. The sheets I replace them with isn't the white silk I love, but it'll do for now.

Lastly, I scrub my bathroom, and the tub shines even brighter than before after I remove the bit of oxidized green around the faucet. I'm more grateful than ever for the thing when I sink into my second scalding-hot bath in one day, letting therapeutic salts ease the tension out of my shoulders and back. The spearmint scent of the water tickles my nose.

In the water, relaxed, eyes closed, silence surrounding me, I let my mind wander, and find myself pondering the differences I've seen in myself since the thirty-first of October. It's indescribable, and a bit uncomfortable, not wholly unpleasant. No longer do I fear my arm burning. No longer do I keep my guard up, look over my shoulder, tense and at the ready for attack. I haven't heard from any Death Eaters, and aside from the Malfoys, (I've been concerned for my godson), I'd like to keep it that way. I know the only reason I haven't been dragged to the Ministry for inquiry is Albus' doing—I may be furious with him, but I am not ungrateful, nor will I be angry forever.

Freedom is a glorious thing, and I refuse to sell it again, no matter the cost.

When the water cools, I don't heat it back up, rather get out and prepare for the mandatory weekly staff meeting after dinner.

I look over old notes and prepare paperwork for the things I need to say or information and requests I need to submit. I rarely have much input, being new to teaching and still feeling my way around, and as such I hate these things fervently. This week, however, I do need to submit paperwork to Minerva. My sixth-years will be brewing Draught of Living Death and Felix Felicious over the next few weeks, and as they're a class-C potion, I'll need to keep close track of it all and make sure no students steal any; this includes giving Minerva proof of what isn't up to par and must be destroyed and what is suitable to be stored and used. They're potions that can be used to attack another student, or cheat on schoolwork, not to mention that even a swallow of these brewed inappropriately can have horrible effects.

I have my briefcase packed, and I'm buttoning my cloak when my fireplaces flares bright green and a familiar head appears in the embers. "Snape! Are you home?" Black's voice in my home is something I never want to hear again.

"Yes?" I crouch I front of the hearth, worried for Lily. Instead, I hear childish screaming coming from behind him. "Is that Harry?"

"Yeah. He hasn't stopped in ages. Can we come through?"

It'll make me late, and Black should probably learn how to handle his godson instead of foisting him on me. I sigh grudgingly, "yes. Let me lift the block."

Black's face disappears and it's replaced with his whole body and a wailing toddler soon after. "He won't stop," he repeats. "It's been two and a half hours since we left St. Mungo's and he's cried nearly the whole time. Remus suggested we take him to you before we bother Lily."

"Me?" I ask, shocked, but sure enough, once Harry hears my voice, he turns and reaches for me with grasping fingers.

Black shakes his shaggy head. "What am I doing wrong?"

"I don't know, but you're going to have to figure it out soon." I think on the advice the kind motherly nurses—even a couple of patients—gave me as Harry crams his face into my neck, sniffling. I grimace and pray that it's tears leaking onto my skin. "He's eaten?" Black nods. "Recently changed?" Another nod. "What did he eat?"

"Some bread and grilled chicken. I tried giving him peas, but he didn't touch them. He's had milk." Black's voice is bewildered.

I shake my head minutely, "he doesn't like peas. Carrots, he'll eat until he makes himself sick…but either way, it's nothing that could give him gas this badly."

Black curses. "I've seen him at least every other day since he was born. He's stayed at my flat overnight before. Why is it that you're the one able to calm him down?" His voice is nearly accusatory.

"I have no idea, Black. If you're trying to suggest something—"

"What else could it be?" he shouts angrily.

It's everything in me not to shout back, but having Harry on me helps. "Perhaps because I have been with him while his mother lay unconscious for so long? I have been his primary caregiver in that time; I have fed him, changed him, bathed him, I have taught him sign language and tried to toilet train him. I have sung to him and rocked him and read to him and played with him. I've been the only constant person in his life since a very traumatic attack on his life, and even at a year and four months, he has the ability to comprehend that. He knows I love him, and he's grown attached to me, as well."

Black's face goes from hostility to shock in an instant. "You love him?"

"How could I hate a baby?" I backpedal a bit, surprised at my forthright. "I'm not that much of a bastard, despite how you would think of me." I turn to the coffee table and yank a tissue out of the box, pull Harry away from me and wipe his face. It wasn't tears, I find with dismay.

Black seems speechless for a moment. Unfortunately it doesn't stay that way. "I'll try some of those things."

"He likes it when I sing Blackbird," I mutter. I try to pass him over, but his face scrunches the instant he touches Black's arms, and he starts wailing again, blubbering, "Tstheb, Tstheb!" and smacking all four fingers together, forgetting just the pinkies in his insistence.

"Merlin, really?" Black growls.

"Give him to me," I snap. He hands the boy over. "Confirm with Lily that I can keep him overnight, and if so, bring his things here. I'll keep the floo open, but I'm very late for a meeting." Without waiting for an answer I head to the door.

"How am I supposed to get his things over here? I don't have a wand."

I quirk one eyebrow. "I was under the impression your wolf could perform a simple shrinking charm," I grouse, and slam the door behind me.

The staff meetings are held in a wood-paneled conference room behind the Head table of the Great Hall, at a heavy mahogany table with hard, horrible chairs. Everyone looks up as I enter, their faces turning in unison from annoyed curiosity to shock as they see Harry in my arms, looking around interestedly.

"Severus, good of you to join us," Minerva says tartly. "And who is this?"

"I apologize. This is Harry. His godfather is unable to attend to him at the moment, and he was brought to me at the last moment, hence my tardiness."

Many a brow raises. "Harry Potter? Not Lily and James' boy?" Filius squeaks.

"The same." I'm certain it's a shock seeing an ex-Death Eater holding the son of a man he openly hated, but I allow no pause for questioning. "As I said, I apologize for being late. Did I miss anything of importance?" I sit in the only empty chair, Harry in my lap looking around curiously at everyone.

The room takes a split second before Minerva clears her throat and looks over her notes. "Poppy needs another triple batch of Pepper-Up from you, and a single of antiseptic. I think that's all pertaining to you so far."

"When do you need it by, Poppy?" I ask the plump medi-witch.

"In a couple of weeks is fine, dear. I have enough of each to last a little while."

I nod at her.

"Is there anything of business from you, Severus?" Minerva asks.

I pull the paperwork from my case and read off my few concerns (a first-year muggle-born Hufflepuff has been showing signs of being unable to read proficiently for his age, and it's become worrisome) and explain the need for approval for the potions I'm having my class make. Minerva summons the papers to her and fills in the lines, taking a copy for herself, placing them in a neat pile of other things to go to Albus, and sending the rest back to me.

A few other teachers make their needs known, and I entertain Harry by enchanting a quill to dance for him as he reaches to snatch it out of the air.

"If that's all, I have a few announcements of my own," Minerva says finally. "We are currently looking for a new Quidditch coach to start next week. I know it's short notice, but Darla's mother isn't doing well, so she and her husband are moving to France to take care of her. I am willing to fill in for a short time, but would like to get someone quickly who can devote their full attention to it."

"What about Rolanda Hooch?" Septima suggests. "Rumor is that she put I her retirement from professional refereeing. Coaching part time here might be just the thing for her."

Minerva nods. "We can certainly write her and ask. Shall I leave that to you, Septima?" Minerva waits for the other teacher to nod in agreement before moving to the next item. "Let's see…just a few small things…Myrtle's been acting up, let's keep an eye out on her and try to keep the younger students from bothering her; and Pomona, if I have to tell the Hufflepuffs one more time that the kitchen is off-limits to them, I'm going to lose my goddamn mind. Understand me?"

Pomona ducks her head with a sheepish smile, and I'm half certain she's been turning a blind eye for quite a while.

"Last thing, the Bobica children lost a member of the family, and will be out of school for the next two weeks. Perhaps longer. That's Logan, the sixth-year Ravenclaw, and Ivy and Holly, the fourth-year twins in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, and Tay, the second-year Gryffindor." Minerva removes her spectacles and rubs an eye wearily. "I'm not suggesting that anyone favor them academically, but go easy on these poor children, please?"

I can feel everyone's struggle not to look at me. I've certainly made a name for myself in the two months I've worked here, haven't I?"

The meeting ends shortly after, and I am glad to have an excuse to leave without chit-chat that can't be chalked up to being anti-social. I set Harry down on the floor inside my rooms and go to the shrunken portable cot and box full of items. A glance back at Harry to make sure he's not getting into anything (he's gnawing on the armrest of my loveseat) and I set his things up in my bedroom, fuming silently at Black. I adore Harry, I do. But Black's the boy's godfather, not me. It's irritating and heartbreaking when the boy is crying for something he cannot have, but sharing Harry while Lily's in the hospital does not mean that I only get when he acts up. Besides, I have a job to do. Black's still on leave pending his pardon from the Minister, and probably longer for Potter's funeral. He can care for Harry easier than I can at the moment.

Christ, I'm thinking like a divorced parent…

Harry's cot sits at the foot of my bed, my chest of drawers re-imagined as a changing table for the night. The white silk sheets are already replaced on the bed, my laundry folded at the end of the turned-over bedclothes.

A metallic rustle catches my attention from the kitchen, followed by a crash. I rush out to see that Harry's pulled out my silverware drawer, and thank Merlin my knives are kept in the block on the countertop, because he's playing in the utensils.

"You brat," I sigh without malice. I come to crouch in front of him and turn the drawer over to place the empty caddy back into it. He takes cue from me and tosses the silverware haphazardly and I straighten it out as he does. I replace the drawer and turn to him. He starts crying and reaches to open the drawer again. I block it, "no, Harry." He stops crying, stunned for a moment, then his face screws up even tighter and he wails at a higher pitch than before. He reaches again for the handle and I reiterate firmly. "No."

I'm amazed as Harry flops down on the floor with a thud that would have been painful had it not been for the nappy covering his bottom. A piercing shriek unlike what I've heard from him and a moment later I realize I'm witnessing my first tantrum from the boy.

"Come now, Harry, that's enough." The more I speak, the louder he cries. I try summoning a toy from the pile in the box, but he tosses it away and continues.

I sigh. My head aches, I'm starving, and I have a full day tomorrow.

"Fine. Have your tantrum." I lock the drawers with a flick of my wand and turn away to heat up some leftovers from the night before. I carry a plate for each of us to the table and transfigure a spare chair into a highchair for Harry. He stands as soon as he realizes I'm not in the kitchen, and goes to the drawer, whimpering. He begins screaming again when it won't budge.

He continues his fit until I'm about halfway through my meal. My head is pounding through my skull by then. He seems to comprehend that I'm not paying any attention to his temper and comes up to me. His face is flushed and splotchy, tears and snot coating his mouth and chin. I take a napkin and clean his face. "Are you finished?" I ask. His hand snakes up the table to reach for my plate. "No," I tell him again. His features crumple like he's about to start crying again and I quickly pick him up and place him in the highchair with his own plate.

Between the busy day and the effort from his tantrum, Harry's as tired as I am, I expect. I turn away from him and clean the dishes and tidy up the kitchen and living room; when I turn back, he's slumped down in the chair, eyes halfway shut, but still making valiant effort at his food. I give it a few more minutes before I decide he's just playing mindlessly with the chunk of potato in front of him. I scoop him up and toss the food into the bin and leave the plate in the sink for tomorrow. Then, I change him into a fresh nappy and the pajamas Black left him, and I'm not surprised they're red and yellow, with a lion that paces back and forth across the chest. Finally, I hold him in my arms in his favored position across my chest and shoulder as I sway him and sing, and from the start he holds none of his own weight. I don't take for granted the trust he has in me to do this.

It takes only five minutes before he's fast asleep. I place him gently in the cot and cover him with his red blanket.

I hurry through my bathroom routine, changing into my own pajamas (black, in an effort to counteract the blatant Gryffindorism) and crawling under the soft clean sheets and with a heavy sigh, succumb easily to sleep a few minutes before midnight.

* * *

Dawn happens far too soon for it to be considered a reasonable time to be awake, but I force myself to get out of bed anyway. I wake Harry and give him a hasty bath as I shave, then feed him some cup up fruit and dry cereal. At eight, I attempt to floo Black's flat, but I'm blocked. I try again without success and am dumbstruck. Perhaps they've gone back to see Lily? I call upon St. Mungo's, but the nurse on duty assures me that she is alone, still sleeping. I know how precious and rare sleep is to Lily right now, so I simply ask the nurse to contact me when she wakes.

I am irate at this point. With no options and classes beginning in a half-hour, I really have no choice but to take Harry with me. I leave a note for Black to contact me in the Potions classroom no matter the time he comes through the floo ( _if he comes through_ , I amend bitterly), hoist the boy on one hip and my case in the other hand, and make my way down the corridor to my classroom. I earn surprised looks from many of my Slytherins on their way to class.

The first thing I do is create a bubble of a shield around my desk and the space in front and to the side of it. Harry can't come father than the line it draws on the ground and nothing can penetrate it except for me. I have to renew it every hour exactly, but it's the best I can do for now. I set up his cot and toys and the books I bought him and place him inside the bubble. He goes immediately for the dragon pop-up book.

I set up the board with the ingredients and instructions for the potion being made today and unlock the storage cupboard. Students begin to trickle in—a sixth-year advanced class of mixed houses, with only fourteen students. A few notice Harry straight away and without fail all eight of the female students coo and aww.

"As you have no doubt noticed," I begin the second the clock strikes nine, "I am caring for the child of a friend. He is safe behind a shield charm, and that is the extent I will speak of the situation. Please copy down the recipe on the board, and then I will discuss it. Prepare to take notes during the lecture."

The class is half through when a fourth-year Ravenclaw pokes her head in shyly. "Professor Snape? You've received an urgent owl." She hands over a letter, just a scrap of parchment folded in half.

"Thank you, Avery."

The girl nods and retreats quickly. I open the letter to find Lily's neat, even handwriting.

 _—Severus, I'm so sorry about Sirius dumping Harry on you. As soon as you're able, floo the hospital and I'll send someone to get him. I owe you one—Lily—_

No doubt Black will bear the brunt of her anger. The thought nearly brings a smile to my face.

The class is brewing at the moment, so I can't leave them unattended. It's a two-and-a-half hour class, and by the time eleven-fifteen comes around, I'm walking around with Harry asleep over my shoulder, checking that workstations have been properly cleaned and sanitized before accounting for each potion sample and banishing them to a locked box to grade later. I dismiss them early after each station is up to standard, and return with Harry and his things to my rooms.

I place the boy on my sofa and fire-call St. Mungo's. A nurse comes back from Lily's room a moment later followed by Lupin.

"I apologize for this morning, Severus. If you'll let me through, I'll bring Harry back with me."

Being called by my given name by Lupin is uncomfortable. I step back so the wolf can come through, and once he does he apologizes again.

I simply nod my acknowledgement of the apology. "I have his things shrunk in the box here. He hasn't had lunch yet; he's been asleep for nearly an hour now," I inform him.

Lupin takes the box through the fireplace first, then comes for Harry. He takes the boy in his arms and he doesn't so much as stir. "Had you planned on coming to the hospital tonight?" Lupin asks.

"I hadn't considered it much. I suppose I probably would have."

"She's finally been sleeping for more than an hour at a time," he informs me. "Healer Greene is asking that everyone be there no later than seven, so she has time to relax and go to sleep easier. He's a piece of work, isn't he?" Lupin interrupts himself with a shake of his head. "Talk about condescending arseholes…Anyway, he says her rest is the most important factor in her healing at the moment, and while he's a prat, he's right."

I allow a corner of my mouth to quirk in amusement. "That he is. I'm thankful she's finally able to sleep, though. She told me she was having trouble resting." I think for a moment—I have potions to grade and a lesson to plan for my first-years tomorrow. If I were to visit, it couldn't be until those things are finished. Finally, I shake my head, "perhaps I'll leave you three at it for the night. I don't feel like dealing with your pet."

Lupin's mouth twists up reluctant amusement. "Must you? I thought we called truce."

"Don't take my words as indication otherwise. I've called him worse while thinking better of him before."

He simply rolls his eyes with a small smirk. "Anyway, thank you for taking care of Harry. We'll handle him tonight no matter what happens."

Lupin leaves and I'm left standing alone in my living room. I may have only had him for a short time here, but I already miss Harry's presence. I hope this doesn't signal the end of my time with him.


	6. Chapter 5

_Hey all! I hope this finds you all happy and healthy. Sorry it's been so long, the muse has not been very kind to me lately :( ._

 _Just some FYI, I fudged with the canon timeline just a bit, where it comes to when the Potters went into hiding, but not to where it'll be noticeable. Please leave a review if you are enjoying my story, and as always I looove hearing people's speculations._

 _If you spot any typos, let me know! Have a great day and you should hear from me soon. XOXO_

* * *

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

 **EVASION**

* * *

Breakfast in the Great Hall Wednesday is uncharacteristically quiet. There's a storm brewing, dark and heavy in the ceiling, and the weather has everyone sleepy and muted. Lightning flashes and lights up the tables; a few younger students gasp in awe. The more seasoned students hurry through their meal and leave, not willing to sit through the ensuing thunder that will echo in the Great Hall. I begin to eat a bit faster, inclined to agree with them.

From the high windows, a meager handful of travel-worn owls straggle in from the storm, and one lands in front of each member of staff at the table; two in front of the Headmaster's embellished chair. A little brown one with great amber eyes lands in front of me, a letter tied to her leg. I feed her a bit of my bacon and she gobbles it up greedily before extending her claw for me to free. She flitters off to the owlry after I've taken the envelope. It's heavy grayish parchment, with an elaborate _R_ in white sealing wax.

 _Severus Snape,_

 _Your presence is requested at the funeral of James Fleamont Potter. Service will be held at St. Jerome's in Godric's Hollow, Sunday, the fifteenth of November, nineteen-eighty-one. A memorial will follow immediately at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry; refreshments will be provided. Please find enclosed Apparition points for each._

 _In lieu of flowers, Mr. Potter's widow has requested donations be made to the War Relief Fund or to Hogwart's Underprivileged Students Materials Needs account, both through Gringott's Bank._

 _We thank you for your attendance,_

 _Ringwold's Funeral Parlour_

Tucked into two slots at the bottom of the parchment is a stiff card with coordinates, one of which I recognize being just outside the gates to Hogwarts. I gently fold the letter in half and slip it into my inner breast pocket. Lightning illuminates the Hall again, followed a few seconds by the first clap of thunder. The remaining students begin to shovel the rest of their food into their mouths. I follow suit, going over my schedule in my head.

It's all fifth-years and up today, and a decent batch of students, I must grudgingly admit. Ones I more than eighty percent trust not to blow up the classroom, anyway. I have a meeting with the DMLE this afternoon, about what I cannot fathom, but they've insisted on my presence at three o'clock. Sometime in there, I reiterate to myself that I must at least check in on Lily.

I have yet to see Lily since Sunday, and I pray that no imbecilic student forces me to set a detention for tonight, so that I may go to the hospital. She should be discharged soon, and I intend to help her and Harry settle back into their home. I've wondered if any other member of staff has gone to visit Lily; I know that Filius and Horace both favored her. She was Minerva's pet. If they have, neither they nor Lily has told me about it.

Looking along the Head Table, I shouldn't be surprised at the looks on my colleagues' faces. Minerva's mouth is set in a firm line, and her lips are turning white with the struggle to keep her emotions in check; she sets her own letter face-down next to her water goblet and pushes her golden plate away from her. Pomona wraps an arm around Minerva's shoulders in solidarity. Poppy excuses herself, tears in her own eyes. Hagrid, the impulsive brute, is bawling into two napkins, one for each eye, and Filius is gently patting his wrist, trying to shush his howls. I look to my left to see that Albus has only read the first of the letters. He sets down the one from the funeral director and unties the neatly rolled scroll sitting next to him. I watch him read it out of the corner of my eye, curious—but not letting on—until he sets that one aside as well. He pushes his plate from him and excuses himself. I look up at him and he nods his head, beckoning me silently to follow.

I set my silverware and napkin on the plate and stand to follow. Most of the Hall is cleared out, despite classes not beginning for a good forty-five minutes. Albus's silvery blue robes sweep the floor gently behind him, and the lightning and thunder rouse again as if to emphasize him. He stops and turns in front of the marble staircase.

"Severus, I've received a letter from Mrs. Potter this morning. She requested that I allow you leave today in order to assist her release from the hospital. Remus is still recovering from the full moon, and Sirius is back in the Auror's department, receiving his pardon and preparing to go back to work."

I lift one eyebrow, surprised. "I thought Greene didn't want her discharged for a few more days."

Albus' head lilts to one side as he speaks with a smile, "It appears Lily is feeling much better and insisting she go home. St. Mungo's cannot legally keep her, and I admit I would feel better about her welfare if she had someone to help her at her home should she need it. I assume you're willing to?"

"Of course. I will need to leave for perhaps an hour or two at three." I briefly inform Albus of my summons. "I'm assuming they want me to verify under Veritaserum that I am no longer a Death Eater despite my previous alliances."

"Ah, perhaps. Lieutenant Armando informed me this may be a formality they must perform. Well, do keep me in the loop. I went to great lengths to keep you from being incarcerated, I won't have anyone go against their word. About your classes, however, I am unable to take them over today, and I doubt we could find a substitute on such short notice. Do you have a suggestion?"

I again mentally go over my classes for the day before answering, "I have only upperclassmen today, the lowest being fifth-years. I could set the time as independent study."

Albus nods. "That will do. I will inform the student body, then, if you would like to get going. Mrs. Potter expressed quite clearly that she wishes to stay no longer than absolutely necessary in St. Mungo's." His eyes twinkle a bit with mirth.

'Expressed quite clearly.' Albus' version of, 'she cursed up a storm.'

I give him a quick jerk of a nod myself, thank him, and hurriedly make my way to my quarters where I gather my things, shrink them into my pocket, and throw on my warmest cloak before flooing to the hospital.

Lily is in her room reading the dragon book to Harry. Her hair is once again plaited and draped over her shoulder, thin wisps of red framing her face. It's a style she seems to favor, and it certainly suits her. In front of the two of them, a little tuft of paper flame whisks into the air from the book and Harry giggles. It makes me smile. I knock lightly on the door and step into her room.

"Severus! I wasn't expecting you so soon," she says in surprise.

"Oh. Should I come back later?"

She shakes her head, "no, no. Just give me a bit of time, I'd like to shower before I leave." She scoots Harry off of her lap and stands. She's in the hospital-issued robe, pastel pajama bottoms poking out underneath.

"Of course. Do you require assistance still? Should I call for your nurse?"

She waves me off. "I'll be fine. Just keep an eye on Harry for me? Here," she passes the boy to me, and he pats my cheek with a smile, then points to the book lying open on the bed.

Lily gathers some of the clothes she ordered from Twilfitt and Tatting's and disappears behind the door. I read to Harry; after only a few minutes he's nearly asleep against me. Lily comes out from the bathroom shortly, a trail of steam following her.

Her cheeks are flushed.

She picks up a bag from under the bed and begins to pack her things into it. "Would you mind calling my nurse in, Severus? He'll discharge me and we can leave this horrid place."

I put Harry down on the ground and go to the nurse's hub, where a woman informs me that Healer Greene will oversee the discharge personally in a few minutes.

"Great," she sighs harshly after I relay the information. "I don't need a lecture from that man."

I take the initiative to shrink Harry's things and put them in the cloth box sitting to the side that Lupin, Black and I have been transporting the baby items back and forth with. "You don't like him either?"

She growls slightly. "He hates you and makes no effort to hide it. He's condescending. He almost didn't allow Remus in the hospital yesterday after the full moon. Plus, he wants me to stay longer, even though I'm perfectly fine to go home."

I smirk to myself, more pleased than I should be that she's so defensive of me.

In a matter of minutes, the room is cleared of hers and Harry's personal items, and we are left sitting in awkward silence on her bed.

I clear my throat before speaking, "er—I received an owl from the funeral director today."

"Oh. I'm glad he sent them so quickly." Lily's tone implies that she is anything other than glad at the mention of the funeral.

Tentatively I pry, "are you certain that you want me there? That it would be...appropriate for me to be there, given my and James' history? I wouldn't want my presence to cause any problems amongst your friends."

Lily reaches out and grasps my hand. Hers is chilly. Harry leans over and mimics her, placing his chubby hand on top of his mothers, causing Lily to chuckle. "Severus, if I didn't want you there, if I didn't think it was appropriate, I wouldn't have put you on the list. You've been here for me throughout all of this, and you've apologized endlessly and needlessly for days. The highest dishonor to James' memory would be to exclude you from the funeral because of boyhood rivalry."

I nod slightly. "Thank you," I murmur.

"Of course." Lily squeezes my hand and pulls hers away into her own lap.

We wait in silence—this time comfortable—again for at least ten minutes more before Greene enters the room with a sharp rap on the door.

"Mrs. Potter. I see you've packed everything up," he states.

"Yes, I'm beyond ready to go home," she tells him matter-of-factly.

Greene nods and looks at a chart in his hand. He outright ignores me. "I've already told you that it would be prudent of you to stay, at least for a little while longer."

"And Healer Engle has told the both of us that as long as I pay attention to my body and do not exert myself that it would be safe for me to return home, return _Harry_ home. I have Severus to help me settle in, as well." Her tone brokered no patience for argument.

With a weary sigh, Greene hands over a few papers. "As you wish. These are your discharge forms. I'll need you to sign on the X marks. This—" he passes Lily another sheet "—is the date and time of your first magical rehabilitation appointment. Should it be an inconvenient time, they can reschedule. Lastly, here are prescriptions for Dreamless Sleep, a moderate Nerve Pain balm, and an energy booster should you need it."

Lily adds the prescription scraps to the pile in her lap, quickly signs the discharge papers, and passes them back.

"Good luck on your endeavors, Mrs. Potter," Greene says, then turns and leaves the room.

Lily peers after him. "Best part of home will be that I don't have to deal with that man every day."

"Hm," I mutter in agreement. I stand and take Harry on my hip. "Should we go to the pharmacy before we leave?"

"Harry's ready enough for a rest as is, I'll ask Sirius pick them up. He and Remus are coming over tonight after Sirius gets out of work."

"Are you ready then?"

Lily stands as well and places her shrunken bags in the fabric box holding Harry's things. She lifts it into her arms. "You can't begin to know." She leads the way to the floo point. "Harry hates apparition, so we'll floo, if you don't mind. The location is 37 Wellesley, Titchfield."

I repeat it back to Lily; she pinches Harry's cheek gently and tosses a handful of powder into the fire and she's gone in a flash.

"Muh-muh-muh," Harry warbles after her.

"Well, come on, what are you waiting for?" I ask Harry.

He babbles at me.

"That was rhetorical," I mutter at him as I throw powder into the fire and step in.

The floo network is hell on Earth, but Harry grunts with a smile on his face, indicating his tummy is tickled from the speed. We're thrown out into the stone floor of a large, arched brick hearth, and I barely keep us upright and able to gather my bearings.

In the spacious brick alcove is a wood-burning stove, perfect for small-scale potion work, standing to the left of me. To the right, a swiveling hook to hold larger cauldrons hangs above charred evidence of fires past. It's a modernized version of medieval hearths, charming and good space for Potions work.

The hearth opens up into a modest sitting room, with furniture I recognize as Lily's mother's, which belonged to her grandmother; an antique oak and plush green velvet sofa and fainting couch, with oak coffee and end tables, upon which stand Tiffany lamps. Landscapes adorn the cream walls, and a round cafe' au lait rug covers the dark hardwood floor.

I hear a shuddering breath being taken and turn to see that Lily's sat herself on the sofa. Her elbows are resting on her knees, head held in her hands, and her body is shaking with the weight of her cries. She doesn't seem to notice that I've arrived behind her. Unsure what to do, I shift my weight a bit. Harry's too busy looking around the room, remembering but perhaps not recognizing the place, to notice his mum too much.

After a moment, I place my hand on Lily's head and stroke her hair. "Can I do anything?"

She shakes her head. "Just give me a moment?"

"Of course. I'll get Harry situated. Take all the time you need."

I levitate the box of baby things in front of me and leave the sitting room to a short hallway. To the left is what looks to be the front door, in front of me a set of stairs, and to the right, the dining room, beside which I can make out a sunken den at left, kitchen at right. I make my way up the stairs to find two doors on each side of me. I open the first one on the right to find a bathroom; the one across from it is storing some furniture, junk and odds and ends. The second on the left must be Harry's. It's a generous room, where sits a beautiful white cot, engraved in green ivy magically crawling up the railings. It forms itself into a canopy of ivy leaves and morning glory, swaying in an enchanted breeze. A mobile of bluebirds twirls from the centre of the canopy, and they begin a chirping song reminiscent of wind chimes as soon as we enter. There's a rocking chair in the corner, white with sprawling green ivy as well, and a dark wooden toy box at the foot of the bed. A changing table is attached to a tall wardrobe across from the cot, in the same décor as the cot and rocker.

The sheets have been taken off of the cot, so I set Harry down on the hardwood floor and rummage in the wardrobe until I find a tacky red and gold fitted sheet. It's the only one in there, so I must sacrifice my pride by touching it. Once it's on the mattress I lay the boy down on it and cover him up with his favorite red blanket. His face scrunches up, getting ready to cry, but I'm used to it by now. I tell him goodnight and he begins to wail, but I leave and shut the door anyway, knowing that he'll settle down in a couple of minutes.

Downstairs, I make my way back to the formal sitting room and, seeing that Lily is still sitting with her head in her hands, I decide to go to the kitchen and make some tea for her.

It's a gorgeous kitchen, with a white tiled worktop and gleaming white appliances. Hardwood—maple, I think—runs the entirety of the house. I fill the copper kettle with water and set it on the gas stove, then rummage through the light blue cupboards until I find the white ceramic mugs. The whole house is a blend of magical and Muggle, like the electric refrigerator and dishwasher with the self-scrubbing pots hanging from the iron rack above the gas stove.

The fridge is covered in moving photos of Lily, James and Harry, the dog and the wolf, Lily's parents and who I assume are James' parents. Sadness for Lily and Harry, even James, wells up inside me. It's the perfect example of a perfect family, and it's been torn apart by hatred, and I had a horrible hand in it. James is hardly the only casualty of this dreadful war, but he will be by far the most remembered, if nothing else as the husband of the only woman to ever survive the Killing Curse.

The Daily Prophet has been plastered with trashy speculative articles about Lily and how exactly she lived through the spell. I know she's seen them—the bin was filled with the week's papers when we left the hospital. Theories range from a Tibetan talisman Albus gave her that could have protected her, to the insultingly far-fetched rumor that James tried to kill her before turning his wand on himself. Horrible as he was to me, I grudgingly admitted to myself years ago that he treated Lily as though she made the sun rise.

I'm drumming my fingers on the oven handle when the clatter of a bar-stool being sat upon startles me out of my thoughts. I turn and find Lily sitting at the island. Her eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and she's worrying a tissue in her hands.

"Green or black?" I ask. I take the whistling kettle off the flame.

"I don't think there's either in there. There may be some chamomile..." she trails off.

After a bit more rummaging I find it and a moment later there are two steaming mugs of tea sitting between us on either side of the island.

It's quiet. I've never been one to fill silences, and I can tell Lily would less than appreciate it anyway right now. There's a ticking coming from a tacky cat clock behind the table. Other than that, it's dead silent, even Harry's fallen asleep so quickly.

To prevent myself boring a hole in Lily's forehead with my gaze, I take in the rest of the modest house. I would have expected James to want more, but this cozy home screams of Lily. Behind Lily is an oval dining table, at the end of it a sliding glass door, a straight line from the front door. Beyond the table is a sunken den behind a wrought-iron balustrade. On closer inspection, I can see the tell-tale shimmer of a shield; the den is warded against any kind of magic, to protect what I know to be a high end television and stereo system. What I can see of the den is comfortable, slouchy furniture and bookshelves packed full of vinyl and tape cassettes.

After a few minutes, Lily sighs and asks, "do you still smoke?"

"Er—every now and then," I admit.

"Do you have one on you?"

Despite my shock, I reach into my inner breast pocket. "You don't smoke," I protest weakly, though I hand the pack over.

"Correction—I used to not smoke. A lot's changed since we were in fifth year." She taps a cigarette out of the pack and lights it with the little green lighter. "I haven't since before we went into hiding, and after everything I've been through, I can have one if I damn well please." She blows a stream of smoke out across the island to the left of me, and the scent encourages me to light one of my own. "People actually think James tried to kill me. Can you believe it? They think that because there was no Dark Mark above the house, that there's no proof that You-Know-Who was behind it."

I nod. "I may have had my personal issues with your husband, but I never doubted that he treated you well."

A watery smile lifts the corner of her lip. "Oh, he was so good to Harry and me. We were ridiculously fortunate, you know, between the profits from Skele-Gro and Sleakeazy's. Privileged, even, I'll admit. But he wanted us to live modestly, not to raise our children amongst insane wealth. Save for a few toys of his," she amends, thumbing behind her to the den. "He put our family first. He insisted we both stay home to raise Harry and..." she trails off, and I know the end of that sentence is, 'the baby'. "Anyway, we could afford it. He took me out every weekend dancing. We weren't planning on having Harry so early...we wanted to travel first, and obviously things didn't work out that way, but once he was here, I wanted more children. I couldn't imagine anything better than having the large family neither of us had growing up. Now I don't know if I ever will have a big family."

"You have some cousins, don't you?" I attempt.

Lily nods, "sure, but I mean siblings for Harry. James was an only child, and Petunia and I were never close, and after I went to Hogwarts, it was almost like I didn't have a sister. I was so excited that Harry would be a big brother."

Her eyes mist up, so I scramble for a change of subject. "Have you heard from her in this time? Your sister?"

Lily stubs out the cigarette in her empty tea mug. "Would you clear out the smoke when you're done with yours?" I nod, and she continues, "no. I doubt she's even heard anything about it. I have a card from her from last Christmas up in my bedroom, but I haven't heard anything from her since. She was pregnant in the picture, they planned on naming him Dudley. Can you imagine? That poor boy," she snickers.

"What's her married name?"

"Dursley."

"Dudley Dursley...well, it can't be worse than that boy the year ahead of us...Bertrangle Punkleditch, wasn't it? I heard he changed his name to Bernard Pundt." I stub out my own cigarette. I take my wand out and clear the smoke with a gentle wave of it.

"Oh, poor Bert. He got teased something awful, didn't he?" Despite her history of sticking up for the bullied, Lily can't contain the sniggers at the memory.

"You were his knight in shining armor, though," I respond with humor in my own voice.

"I'm the one who suggested he go by Bert. He'd never even considered anything other than Bertrangle."

I shake my head.

"Oh," she sighs with a shake of her head. "Anyway, I probably should contact Petunia. I made the mistake of telling her about the war, and she became extremely paranoid about how it would affect her little family. Told me once and for all that she didn't want anything to do with me. I don't expect a Christmas card this year," she adds with a humorless smirk. "I should probably put her worries to rest, though."

I shrug with one shoulder. "Eh. Let her worry a bit. It would be good for her."

Lily smirks. "Ever the sadist," she teases with no bite.

I sniff. "How else would I have any effect in my classroom? I'm the youngest teacher there, only four years older than the seventh-years. I must be taken seriously somehow," I muse.

Lily gets up and begins opens a door to the side of the fridge, revealing a pantry and washing machine. I hear her rummage as she calls out, "have you given any more thought about what you'll do after the semester ends?"

"Not quite," I reply. "I suppose I'll sell the house in Spinner's End, perhaps rent a little house somewhere, or even a flat in Diagon Alley. I intend to send queries out to Potions Masters in the area, seek apprenticeship with one."

Lily peeks her head out of the door, lip curled in disgust, "you still own that rotten house? Whatever for? You always told me you'd burn it to the ground as soon as your father died." She goes back to looking for whatever it is she needs.

"And I intended to," I incline my head toward her direction, though she can't see me. "However, it's turned out to be a good investment if I can fix it up a bit, and with magic it should be no problem and little cost. Making money off the bastard isn't my first choice, but it's only a close second to burning it down."

Lily comes out from behind the fridge with a bulb of garlic and some bread. She sets them down on the counter. "Hm," she hums, and taps her fingers on the tile. "Well, whatever works for you, then. Who are you appealing to for your apprenticeship?"

"Let's see," I hold up a hand and tick off on my fingers, "there's Darlena Thornton, up in Glasgow, and Tirenious Warburton just East of Cardiff. There's Nicusor Constantin in Romania, but unless he can offer me some kind of guaranteed employment, I feel that would be too far to go."

"I agree," Lily nods. She gets into the fridge and pulls out butter. "I've got everything to make spaghetti and garlic bread. Nothing fresh for veg, though. I'll have to go to the market tomorrow. Sirius loaned me some money until Gringott's releases my account. It should be before the week is out."

"I can pick some up for you. Do you have meat?"

She shakes her head. "I don't mind sauce without the meat."

"I need to leave anyway for a bit this afternoon, I can get what you don't have on hand. Sausage?"

"And things for a nice green salad?" She asks.

I nod, "you can count on it."

"What do you have to go do?"

I don't sigh so much as growl out a harsh puff of air. "The _Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ ," I begin, in my stuffiest voice, "has requested my presence at three today."

She smirks at my impression. "What for?"

"Didn't say. I believe I may have to undergo questioning under Veritaserum, my account of my time as a Death Eater and my renouncement of them."

Lily looks down at her fingers, twisted in her lap. The expression on her face tells me that she's second-guessing whether or not she wants to open her mouth.

"Say what's on your mind, Lily," I encourage her.

"Why did you switch? What made you change your mind? You know, I used to check the Prophet every day for news of you; I expected you killed by You-Know-Who, or arrested in a raid. When we went into hiding, Albus told us only then that you had joined the Order in secret nearly a year before. He never said why."

My blood runs cold in my veins, my heart all but stops. I know that this is my time to tell her the truth. I run my fingers over my chin, scratching at the stubble, as I try to come up with a way to admit it.

"I know, it's not good conversation for us right now, but I need to know...when you turned on me—on the light—it nearly crushed me. I need to know you won't do it again," she whispers, looking anywhere but at me.

I nod, "I know, Lily, I know. It's not the proudest part of my life...I know I hurt you irrevocably, but please understand, I am not that person anymore. I only wish for you to see that."

"You assured me that before, and I forgave you. If I can trust you won't go back, then tell me what made you change," she insists.

Resolved, I gather what courage hasn't fled my body. "I came to Albus to switch sides in early autumn the year before Harry was born, because of the prophecy, and everything that followed. Especially after I knew the target was the family of my only true frined of childhood."

It takes a moment for Lily to register that I'm speaking of her. Her hand comes to her mouth, an astonished look on her face.

"Did Albus never tell you about the prophecy?" I ask, stunned.

She shakes her head. "No."

"Albus told me the moment I told him of it, he put you in hiding."

Her head is shaking more now, as though she's trying to shake off the truth. "He only said You-Know-Who was after us because we refused to join him, that we were far too valuable of fighters to the Order to risk. We refused at first, until the Lestranges went after the Longbottoms. Albus absolutely insisted after that, and we were so afraid for Harry's safety that we agreed. What did the prophecy say about us?"

I consider for a moment whether it would be wise to disclose the prophecy to her. As conniving as he is, there is usually a good reason Albus has for his strategies. "I'm not sure I should tell you," I begin.

Lily interrupts me, points a finger in my face, "don't you dare, Severus, don't you dare do that to me. Albus should have told us from the start. You just got done promising to prove you have my best interests at heart, don't renege on that now!"

And there's the anger I never wanted pointed at my direction. I sigh and scratch at my cheek again. "All right, I'll tell you. Just let me get through it and don't interrupt." Steeling myself to tell the truth, I round the island and pull out a bar-stool to sit upon next to Lily. "It's no secret that in my time as a Death Eater, I did horrible things and stood by while I watched others do them. I regretted my decision almost instantly after this Mark was burned into me." I touch my right palm to my left forearm, grip the flesh angrily. "I didn't believe there was anyone or any reason for me on the other side of the war. It took a terrifying wake-up call for me to change. Please keep in mind that except for my work as a spy for the Order, I have not been a Death Eater for a very long time, longer at heart than in practice, but with no way to leave that didn't end in death. I was a coward, but I strive not to be any longer."

Lily nods. "I know that now."

I sigh. "August of nineteen-seventy-nine, the Dark Lord announced a select group of Death Eaters for a special assignment, including myself, the Lestranges, and five others. Our focus was the Longbottoms, to take out the family entirely, especially the boy. All of this was based on a prophecy that said that a boy born at the end of July, born to those who thrice defied him, who could kill the Dark Lord. Could end his reign of terror. While these things applied to the both of your families, the Dark Lord didn't disclose that until later. Obviously, you know what happened to the Longbottoms."

Lily's voice shakes as she replies, "Frank and Alice hid Neville with Frank's mother after he was a few months old, but Bellatrix caught up with them eventually."

"Yes. Fortunately Aurors arrived before Bellatrix could glean information to their son's location, and she and her husband were incarcerated. After the Longbottoms were admitted to St. Mungo's, I'm not sure what changed the Dark Lord's mind. Albus has his theories, he always does, but the Dark Lord turned his focus to your family."

I see the shift in Lily's eyes, the acknowledgment of betrayal. "You...you didn't try to go after us?"

I shake my head so quickly it hurts. "No. I begged him to spare you. I told him there was no way a baby could stop him, that you would be even more protected by Albus than the Longbottoms were, that they could be waiting with a trap for him, but he insisted. By then I had already betrayed him, my next course of action was to warn Albus of the Dark Lord's plan, but I begged him to at least spare you."

Lily's face grows flushed, her eyes sparking. She draws her chest up like a hen and the air around her trembles. "Spare me? Like some kind of charity? What did you say, 'kill her son, but spare the mother'?"

She's exerting what little intuitive magic she has in her, and I have to calm her down before she lands in St. Mungo's again. I hold my hands up in offering, "I have no excuse, Lily, but as I said, the moment I knew of the Dark Lord's plan, I was already thinking of how I could track down Albus. I am deeply sorry that I was ever a part of his—his—cult. I cannot change it, but I can shape what I do from now on, and I would like to believe I could atone for it somehow. Please. You said you forgave me long ago. If you're angry it's nothing less than what I deserve, I only ask for your forgiveness to remain."

Lily's breathing is labored like a bull. She touches her hand to her temple and grimaces. "I know," she says in a pained voice. "This is new information. It's a lot to process."

"Should I grab a pain reliever?"

"Please. Above the washing machine." Lily points to the pantry.

In a medicine cabinet above the washer, I find a large flask of headache reliever and measure the correct amount from the dropper into a funny little paper cup. Lily drinks it and gags a bit on the taste. She crumples the cup in an angry fist and chucks it in the direction of the sink, missing by quite a bit.

"Let me reassure you that I am in fact absolutely livid with you. This is new information, things I never imagined. Everything will be fine eventually, just let me be angry now."

I nod mutely and wait a few minutes. Eventually Lily waves her hand for me to continue.

I clear my throat before beginning. "Er—so after I finally earned his agreement that he would not kill you, I went to Albus. It took me much less time than I thought it would. I told him I was at his mercy, at his service, if he would only hide you and your family. From then on, I was a spy for him. He hired me on as Potions master, and the Dark Lord thought I was a wonderful resource, a spy for him into the Order, when really it was the other way around. Four months into it, I was indoctrinated into the Order officially, though only he knew it. And that's the whole story, Lily. As I said, I cannot change the past, but I want to be a good man in the future. If you'd rather our paths separate now, I understand."

Lily puts a hand on my shoulder, and I stop speaking. Her face is stern, jaw clenched. "If you disappear again, I will hunt you down and drag you back by your hair, do you understand me?"

Despite the ice in her tone, I smile. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

Silence follows. Lily lifts herself up from the bar-stool and goes to wash her face upstairs and I remain sitting. That went a lot better than I expected it to go. I must push my conscience down, placate my guilt by telling myself that enough is enough for the day, during our next deep conversation I'll admit that I was the one who told the Dark Lord about the prophecy in the first place. I've always been a very good liar, even to myself.

Lily's only upstairs for a few minutes. She comes down with Harry on her hip, sleep still in his eyes. I sit back as I watch her fix something for him to eat, as she plays with the boy and reads some mail that was sent to the hospital. She acknowledges my presence in quiet ways, but it's clear that I am only in her house right now because I'm making sure she doesn't fall ill.

I've never been happier that someone is angry with me.


	7. Chapter 6

_Hey, there! It's been a while, I know. Life._

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please leave a review-XOXO_

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER** SIX

 **SILENCE**

"Professor Snape."

I jerk in surprise at my name, echoing bleakly in the dark hall of the waiting area. The young Auror who called it beckons me to follow him, his tightly tailored, knee-length cloak snapping behind him as he turns. No clue has been given as to why I have been called in for questioning, and the nervousness at the suspense has turned my palms sweaty. It is all I can do to keep from shaking. Despite Albus' assurances, I fear I will end this day a lonely black cell in Azkaban.

Will Harry miss me?

The courtroom the Auror leads me in to is enormous. The ceilings go on forever, as far as the eye could tell. Straight in front of the door on a raised platform behind an ebony podium are three people. Directly behind the podium is a man with a close-clipped beard and no mustache, blue eyes, and a shaved head. His countenance is stern, and the pin on his breast indicates that he is a Head of the Auror Department. The highest up, I would assume. To his left is a wizard in Wizengamot robes and a beard to rival Albus', but shorter hair with a shiny bald spot. On the right of the Auror is Prime Minister Bagnold in crisp grey robes. Publicly, she is known for her sternness, but also her fairness and compassion. Many an article has hailed the nearly painful thoughtfulness she embraces before any decision, her ability to see all sides of an argument. There are no two sides to see, given her countenance now. At the moment, her lined lips are pursed in displeasure, eyes hardened and calculating. This war has stolen her charity.

I am terrified.

"Professor Snape," the man behind the podium addresses me after I am led by the nameless Auror to stand between said podium and a straight-backed chair.

"Yes, Sir."

"I am Quentis Brown, Head Auror. These are Erich Dawlish, my second-in-command," Brown motioned to his left, "and I'm sure you recognize our Minister for Magic. Please, have a seat."

As I turn to sit in the unforgiving black chair, I see the stands above the door, facing the podium, are filled with Wizengamot officials.

The Auror who brought me in moves toward me, reaching his wand-tip for my wrists. "No, no, John, that won't be necessary. The professor is not on trial here," Dawlish announces. I see better the resemblance between the two men; I figure they must be father and son. The younger—John—is perhaps only a year or two older than I am. He nods and steps back, hovering at a door to my right.

Brown looks at me for a moment, assessing me, before speaking. "For the record, please state your name, age and profession." He taps an eagle feather quill with his wand, which promptly stands to attention, awaiting my voice.

I clear my throat. "Professor Severus Tobias Snape. I am twenty-one years old, currently professor of Potions at Hogwarts School." The quill swerves on the paper in an oddly comforting scritch-and-scratch.

"And do you know the reason you have been summoned to the courts, Professor Snape?" Brown asks.

"No, I do not."

"Albus Dumbledore has personally vouched for your alliance to our side, that you have denied the Death Eater ways. This is true?" Brown inquires.

"Yes, Sir."

Brown nods. "I am sure you know that in the light of the end of the war, we are questioning those who supported He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." He waits for me to nod before continuing. "We have a Death Eater in our chambers who has requested that you speak on his behalf."

" _Suspected_ Death Eater, Brown," Minister Bagnold corrects.

"Yes, Minister." Brown clears his throat. "Do you wish to testify for one Mister Lucius Malfoy?"

I'm shocked, and barely succeed to keep my reaction under control. So this is why I haven't heard from him since the attack. Relief floods me, followed immediately by shame, because I know today that I will be betraying him. Lucius has been the closest thing I have to a friend since Hogwarts. He and his wife named me godfather to her son, I administered her strength and pain relief potions as she was giving birth, for Merlin's sake. If I were to tell the truth, I would lose their trust, the Malfoys could rescind my status as Draco's godfather. I may never see the boy again, and despite my attitude and facade, I love the boy dearly. But to testify that he was not involved in the Dark Lord's circle would be to lie, to risk imprisonment and risk losing all that I have worked for the past year and some months. To lose Lily and Harry, whom I also love dearly.

I deliberate for a full minute before I respond. "Auror Brown—" my voice cracks and I try again. "Ahem. Auror Brown, I would agree to testify if a few conditions could be agreed to."

The slightly insulted look on Brown and Dawlish Sr.'s faces tell me how audacious my request is to them. I'm sure they would love to question me as well. Thank Merlin for Albus, bastard as he is; he's kept me out of the Wizengamot's line of fire.

"State your terms," Minister Bagnold instructs me.

I clear my throat again. "I wish for everything I say to be kept within these walls and strictly on that paper. I have a reputation I have struggled to rebuild and I do not wish for the public to gain access to my past sins as leverage against me now."

Brown deliberates with Dawlish and Bagnold for a moment. "Agreed. Go on."

"Secondly...I respectfully ask that you administer Veritaserum for the duration."

There is quiet, surprised murmuring among the Wizengamot, and Brown and Dawlish exchange stunned looks. Brown taps his wand on the podium, sending out white-blue sparks into the black abyss above us. The group behind me quiets. "You wish to be forced to tell the truth, Professor Snape?"

Veritaserum is a powerful tool in court, and its ethical use in a court of law has been argued over since its invention over a century ago. There are arguments about the effectiveness—a witch or wizard powerful in Occlumency would be able to shake it, not to mention that the questions asked need to be very carefully put, as the drinker only tells what he knows to be true. Being willingly subjected to it is a sign of good faith, and though I've been studying Occlumency, I am nowhere near decent at it yet. It can be a useful tool, when used in the right circumstances, and this is one.

"Yes, Sir. I do not wish for there to be any question about where my loyalties lie. So long as there are only questions relevant to Lucius' time in the war and his character, I will testify."

Again, the three at the stand converse for a moment. Brown faces forward and nods. "It will be a few minutes to acquire the Veritaserum. We will recess until it is procured."

I don't do much while waiting. The younger Auror stays in the room, twirling his wand and flirting with a young, pretty Auror-in-training. The rest of the Wizengamot chatter or stretch their legs, and Minister Bagnold paces in front of the dais as she reviews something from a file.

Twenty minutes later, a Potions Master in mauve Ministry-tailored robes enters the room. Brown calls order to the group and once everyone is settled, takes the potion from the Master; a cylinder of what could easily be mistaken for water. I wish it were vodka, to soothe my nerves. Brown and Dawlish inspect and approve the potion in the glass and the Master gives it to me. Because it is volunteered, I am allowed to have it handed to me instead of having the potion poured directly down my throat. I down the potion in one swallow and pass the tube back to the Master; he turns it over in view of the officials in the courtroom.

The potion courses through me; my heart pumps it, tingling, through my limbs and up to my brain, where it settles and creates a concentrated focus of awareness in the front of my brain, fogging up the rest of my mind and dampening the ability for reflex movement. If I wanted to scratch my nose, I'd have to think about it and force myself to make the connections. The connections between my ears, frontal brain, and mouth are razor-sharp, however.

I blink a few times and realize the Potions Master is gone. I focus on the front of the room, waiting my first question.

Quentis Brown's voice all but echoes through my mind. "Let the record show that Severus Snape has taken one half-hour dose of Veritaserum, and is to receive more dosing as needed. We will ask a few routine questions verifying its effectiveness before we begin the questioning of the character of Lucius Malfoy.

"Sir, will you again verify your name, age and profession?" Brown asks me.

In a monotone, I repeat the answer I had given earlier, with no variation.

"And please give the court a brief summary detailing your upbringing." Brown pulls a sheet of parchment from under the short stack in front of him, and I can see a small moving photograph pinned to it, about age fourteen. It's my Hogwarts student information file.

"I was born in Cokeworth, the ninth of January, nineteen-sixty, to Tobias and Eileen Snape. I attended a local muggle grammar school until my acceptance to Hogwarts in nineteen-seventy-one, where I was sorted into Slytherin. I graduated in the top three of my year."

Auror Brown nods as he reads along with my answers. "And please indicate the number and color on this card." Brown holds up a card that I can see is shimmering with a deception spell. Any wizard acting of their own volition could not see what was on the card, but the back details the correct answer. Under Veritaserum, my eyes could make out a shimmering orange six. I say as much, and Brown seems satisfied.

He clears his throat. "All right, the time is three-fifty-seven in the afternoon, on this day, the eleventh of November, nineteen-eighty-one. Auror John Dawlish, please bring in Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy."

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I recognize surprise. I had no idea Narcissa was here as well. Dawlish the younger disappears behind the door to the right of me and emerges a moment later with my long-time friends, shackled at the wrists and Lucius wearing a magic-dampening talisman around his neck—he's always been advanced at wandless magic. Despite their chains and embarrassment of their situation, their heads are held high, backs straight, chins and chests out haughtily. They're led to a set of chairs to my left, set at an angle to face both me and the dais.

Brown speaks, "Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, you have requested that Severus Snape come and speak on your behalf. Professor Snape has ingested a dose of Veritaserum, so all parties will know exactly the state of your innocence. As you know, you have both been accused of being Death Eaters and the crimes associated with."

A glance at Lucius tells me he's gone pale. He wasn't expecting the Veritaserum. He knows he's most likely going to prison now. Pity and guilt elude me under the effects of the potion, but somewhere in my hindbrain I understand they will surface later.

"Let's not waste any time. Professor Snape, you have been informed of the situation."

"Yes," I croak out.

"To the best of your knowledge, did Lucius Malfoy join the ranks of the Death Eaters of his own free will?"

"Yes."

"Would you please provide details?"

"Lucius Malfoy was sworn in to the Death Eaters in nineteen-seventy-two, mere weeks after graduating from Hogwarts." A thin part of my consciousness recognizes that my voice is strictly analytical, monotone, with no feeling. The rest of me has zero ability to care. "He took a personal interest in my abilities with creating spells and my talent in potions, and recruited me into the organization."

"And Narcissa?"

"Narcissa holds the personal opinions of the Death Eaters, but chose never to join. She is not a malicious person."

Brown nods. "In your opinion, were the Death Eaters to rise on their own, would either of them join?"

"Lucius would, yes."

"And his wife?"

Narcissa was raised to be the perfect, demure little pure-blood housewife. She was all but sold to Lucius, their marriage arranged before she could even walk. A witch who didn't want to join the Death Eaters wasn't worth losing a wizard who could buy the alliance the Dark Lord needed, so she was never pressed much to join. She had made it clear to Lucius and I that she thought the act of brutish rallying plebian and beneath pure-bloodedness. "She disdains the Death Eaters. She would not be branded willingly," I answer curtly.

Brown flips through some pages. "You are the godfather to their son, Draco, correct?"

"Yes." A tiny ping of panic fires off in my brain, beyond the lit-up area Veritaserum has taken over. I scrabble to reach it, to identify it, but it's exhausting.

"Why did the Malfoys appoint you such high status in their lives?"

 _Draco_. "Lucius said it was because I could teach Draco well in the subjects of Potions and the Dark Arts. Narcissa wanted me to teach him kindness." Merlin knows what that woman was thinking. I am the king of cruelty. I know fuck-all of being kind except to a select few.

 _Where_.

"Professor, what crimes did you personally witness Lucius and Narcissa commit?"

I think for a moment. "Lucius has performed the Cruciatus and Imperius curses more times than I could keep track of. He has performed the Killing Curse on a number of House Elves and four muggles that I know of. He has murdered three muggles and two muggle-borns with his bare hands. He has tortured many others." The Wizengamot behind me is muttering quietly.

"In which ways did he torture?"

"Psychological techniques. Driving sewing needles under skin and under fingernails. Burning. Raping." It's all I can think of off the top of my head. The Minister looks rather sick to her stomach; Brown and Dawlish are pale.

Brown clears his throat once more. "And Narcissa?"

"None that I am aware of," I begin, but that doesn't seem right. "No...no...A Cruciatus on a House Elf while she was in labor," I correct myself.

 _Draco._

 _Where._

"Where...is...Draco?" I ask, with difficulty.

Brown is surprised. It's uncommon for someone under Veritaserum to speak out of context of the line of question, but not unheard of for a powerful wizard or witch.

"He's with an elf at home," Narcissa's quiet voice assures me from my left.

I merely nod.

"Speak when spoken too, Mrs. Malfoy," Brown scolds her sharply.

"Yes, Sir," she murmurs.

"Only one more question, Professor Snape. Do you believe that, according to the laws of Wizarding Britain, the Malfoys in question deserve prison?"

My answer is cruelly honest. "Lucius, yes. Narcissa, no."

"Why is that?"

"Lucius is vicious and craves power and blood purity above all else. He has committed inhumane crimes against other human beings and that deserves punishment under the law. Narcissa's opinions reflect her husband's, however only wish is for her family to be safe. She has not committed any crimes that I am aware of that would indicate a need for prison."

Brown nods, flips through a couple of papers. Finally he says, "thank you for your time, Professor Snape. Please take a seat to your left."

I stand unsteadily, requiring more concentration on keeping upright than normal, but make it to the row of chairs the Malfoys are occupying, sandwiching Lucius between his wife and myself for a bare moment before they are called to stand in front of the dais.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. You have heard Severus Snape's testimony, as requested by yourselves. Do you have anything to add?" Brown speaks to them as though they are smaller and more undeserving of his consideration than a garden gnome that had just bitten him.

"No, Sir," they respond in unison.

"Then I believe we have heard enough. Is the Wizengamot satisfied?" A murmur of consent, like the buzz of flies, washes over the room for a few seconds, but no one speaks up. "Then I look to you for your votes. Please keep in mind all that we have heard from previous proceedings here in this court. In the case of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, please indicate with your wand for each charge how you find him; red for guilty, green for innocent.

"For the use of Unforgivable Curses, how do you find?"

I peek up to the stands. All but three wands are red.

"For the crime of having willingly entered into the ranks of the Death Eaters, how do you find?"

Not a single green tip.

Brown polls for torture of muggles and muggle-borns, the murder of magical and non-magical individuals, and bribery—I'm both startled and mildly amused. Bribery has always been something of an art of Lucius'. With that thought, I realize that the Veritaserum is wearing off. I rub my eyes hard as I come out of the trance slowly.

A long look up at the Wizengamot for the last vote shows fifty-fifty on the bribery—not enough to prosecute, so he probably won't have to pay a fine for that. Not that he couldn't afford it.

"Thank you. In the case of Narcissa Malfoy, on the charge of being a Death Eater, how do you find?"

It's a tricky one to say, but in the end the sight of her unmarred left arm is all the proof needed. Not a single red tip goes up.

When it's all said and done, the only thing Narcissa is guilty of is sympathizing with the Dark Lord, which, while isn't an official crime, as of six months ago became a legally character-defining measure of integrity, and can end up in closer monitoring. Because House Elves are not protected or recognized at the same level as Wizards, using an Unforgivable on one is, as it turns out, forgivable.

As I see Brown scrawl a few things out on the parchment in front of him, I know that I will have two single women in my life to be worrying about for the foreseeable future. If Narcissa will ever speak to me again, that is.

As Brown, Dawlish Sr., and the Minister confer about punishment, I study the Malfoys. Lucius's hair has always been a pale blonde, thick and enviable, and more often than not tied back with bejeweled dragon heartstrings or embellished clips. He has no access to his silvering tonics, and so his hair is more orange than I've ever seen it, dull and limp and thinning out. Narcissa looks much the same. She's bleached her hair since the day she officially entered courtship with Lucius, desperate to be a proper Malfoy. While that part of her locks is also yellowing, the roots are presenting at their natural ebony curliness. Her fingernails are bitten and chipped. While she's not what anyone would call pretty, Narcissa takes care in her appearance, ensuring immaculate, glowing skin and perfectly applied makeup, regal jewelry and nails that could draw blood. Pretty, no, but no one would ever think her anything other than stunning. It pains me to see them both dulled and all but broken.

Narcissa turns her head to me, nods slightly, and faces forward again.

It takes over ten minutes for the three at the dais to come to a conclusion."All right, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, the court has come to a decision on punishment. In regards to Narcissa, you are aware that you have not been found guilty of formal crimes in the eye of this court. However, your past indicates that you hold dangerous ideals. In light of the end of this war, the Wizarding world as a whole can no longer afford to be divided into 'us vs. them'. It is this court's duty to do what it can to change this mentality. Therefore, though you are not found guilty of a formal crime, you are going to be subject to a few conditions. Consider it a probation, of sorts.

"First, the Trace will be placed upon you. Should you perform an illegal curse or willfully harm anyone, no matter blood status, you will be arrested and held to the fullest extent of the law. Secondly, your passports will be revoked. You will not be permitted to leave Great Britain. And finally, Mrs. Malfoy, you will be required to fulfill a minimum of twenty hours of volunteer work per week at a charity or organization that benefits victims of this war. These requirements will be upheld until one year from this date, whereupon we will rejoin and reconsider, with intent to lift these conditions. I must stress, Mrs. Malfoy, that unless you show positive change in character, this will not happen. Am I understood?"

Narcissa's voice trembles, "yes, Sir."

"You are free to leave. Auror John Dawlish, please remove the chains from Mrs. Malfoy."

Dawlish pulls a key from his pocket, glowing blue, and frees Narcissa. She rubs her wrists absently, still staring dead ahead at Brown. "You may stay for your husband's sentencing," Brown says to Narcissa. She comes to sit beside me as Brown turns to Lucius.

"Lucius Malfoy. You have been found guilty of murder, the use of Unforgivable curses on wizards and muggles, torture, and having willingly taken the Dark Mark. For these crimes, you are hereby sentenced to serve seventy years in Azkaban."

A shudder courses through Narcissa next to me. Lucius sways in his spot. I do the math quickly; Lucius will be nearly a century old before he is released—if he survives that long. I've never heard of anyone who lived more than twenty years in that prison.

"Y-your honor, please..." Lucius' cracked whisper is shut down with a wave of the minister's hand.

"You will be given five minutes to say your good-byes." When Minister Bagnold stands after speaking, Brown and Dawlish Sr. stand as well. The Wizengamot members follow suit, rising the stands and leaving through massive double doors at the top. Dawlish Sr. joins his son to wait out the five minutes Lucius has been given.

I try not to look as Narcissa stands from her seat and comes to stand in front of her husband. She cups his scraggly face in her hands and kisses his brow gently. They speak in hushed voices for a moment. Narcissa's shoulders heave in a sob and Lucius draws her into a tight embrace. He meets my eyes overtop of Narcissa's hair, and his gaze says hatred. I lower my own to the clenched hands in my lap.

A scuffle draws my attention back up a minute later. The Aurors are on each side of Lucius, mirroring a hold on his shoulders and wrists. Lucius is pulling away, trying to get them off.

"Please, just one more minute."

"You heard the minister. Time to go, Malfoy," the older says.

"Take care of Draco," Lucius chokes out.

Narcissa holds her head in her hands, weeping, not watching as her husband is taken away, shackles clanking.

I wait a moment, but Narcissa doesn't move. I stand and put a hand on her shoulder. She abruptly turns and pushes on my chest. She gives a very un-Malfoy wipe of her nose and eyes. "Don't pity me, Severus. Please take me home, I have a son to make dinner for."

I bow my head slightly and hold my elbow out for her to grasp. We make our way down the dark hallway without speaking.

The silence is the loudest sound I've heard all day.


	8. Chapter 7

_Hello my dears! Things have been insane, so I apologize for the delay once again. Health, new job, in the process of moving...I've been working on this chapter for three weeks in little bursts, and I'm quite happy with it now. As always, please let me know if you spot any errors, and leave a review. Thanks so much for reading! All my love to everyone! XOXO  
_

* * *

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER SEVEN  
**

 **POETRY**

* * *

The sun is bright and high in the azure sky, shadows flitting over Lily and Harry's faces as crisp brown leaves fall to the ground in the wind. The breeze lifts the hair that's escaped from the twist at Lily's neck and she tucks it behind her ears absent-mindedly. The funeral celebrant speaks eloquently about James Potter, praises his achievements and his service to the Order. Albus recalls a very victor-sided account of his time at Hogwarts. Black can barely speak through his tears and his throat sounds closed up—despite all that he and Potter had done to me, I can't help to feel a shard of sympathy for the mutt. Lupin declines to speak, his arm around Lily.

Lily is stone-faced, her eyes and nose red with imminent tears, but they never fall. The bite in the air reddens Harry's cheeks. He's seemed to detect the sombre chord to the gathering of his favourite people, and hasn't laughed much. He pats his mother's cheek from time to time in question; she kisses his fat palm and turns her attention back to the head of her husband's grave at whomever is speaking. Eventually Black takes him, nuzzling his scruffy face into the boy's neck, making him giggle.

I feel spectacularly out of place, at the foot of the elegant mahogany casket holding the remains of my oldest rival. The picture of him set atop amid trinkets—three yellow roses, Potter's wand, and a ceramic imprint of Harry's hand—is of him smiling, looking down in awe at newborn Harry, Lily lying in bed, smiling sleepily at the two. In that picture I see a man who is no longer a bully, an arrogant cad capable of catastrophic damage to his peers. He is a loving father and husband, hero to the light, and that is how he shall be remembered. On one hand, Harry having a father that he can look up to is something that I can never begrudge. On the other, to dispise someone as deeply as I did Potter is habit, and for every great thing Potter did, I can think of a thousand misdeeds he acted out against me. I am unsure where I stand, and the longer I stay unsure the more I want to run.

Albus comes to stand again up by the head of the hole in the ground, shaded by the quivering leaves of the birch tree above. "Friends, as we remember and celebrate the life of James Potter, I urge us all to look within ourselves to always improve and to fight, to hold close that which is dear to us all. If we all carve a place to be remembered in our loved ones lives, then the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."

With Albus' last words, a song begins to fill the air, amplified magically. I vaguely recognize the tune, and have the feeling it's a muggle song.

With the lyrics, _In my life, I have loved you more_ , a dam breaks in Lily's eyes. In a blink, she's bent over at the waist, a cry from the back of her throat spilling out onto the crowd, raw and feral. She struggles to breathe, gasps, and cries out with a sharp, machine-gun gasps. I can feel her pain as acutely as though it were my own; my heart siezes.

I cannot do anything other than simply look on silently. Slowly, encouraged by Albus, the guests disperse, apparating away to Hogwarts. Soon, only Lupin, Black, Lily and I remain. The Tonks take Harry back to Hogwarts, their young daughter doing her very best to distract him from his mother's wails.

Three men come to lower the casket into the ground. Lily manages to stand on shaky legs. She flattens the photo of her family onto the cakset and leaves a bright red kiss on the polished wood. After the caretakers lower James Potter six feet down, one by one, she and her friends toss a handful of dirt into the hole.

I've remained apart, the next grave over, letting them have their moment. Lily beckons me over; I make my way over warily.

In a shaky, cracked voice, she says, "whatever grudges we five had, they are buried with this casket. Do we all agree?"

It takes a moment of us three men having silent conversations with each other before we nod in unison. "You have my word," I assure her, and the other two mumble their agreements.

"Good." Lily reaches down and places a handful of dirt in my fist. I let it fall over James Potter's final resting place, patting my hands clean.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Lupin adresses the caretakers. He wraps an arm around Lily and leads us all to the apparition point to go to the reception.

Life seems to quiet down in the weeks that follow. I attempt to teach moronic children. They barely attempt to learn. I dodge Albus' twinkling, calculating gaze at the head table and begin to take more meals in my quarters. Sundays are dinner at Lily's with Lupin and Black. Grudgingly, I must admit that they are becoming much more bearable to be around. Lupin makes for intelligent conversation and Black is up for a spar of wits—and often wands—at any given time (we'd blown up Lily's hydrangeas twice before she stormed in on us and forbade dueling in her back garden anymore). Lily goes up and down between depression and near happiness and everywhere inbetween. More often than not lately, the pups and I can make her laugh all night long on Sundays.

Harry is growing like a weed, at my knee and speaking with both voice and hands more every time i see him. His bursts of accidental magic are random and rare, but powerful. He pulled a chocolate cake one night to himself when no one was watching and had it half gone before anyone noticed he had been far too quiet for far too long. Taking that away and giving him a bath had been a tantrum for the ages.

The week before December's full moon, I ensure that Lupin has his wolfsbane potion. I've nearly successfully modified the taste, but I'm not quite there yet. I do enjoy a puzzle, and Lupin seems unconcerned with the delay, simply pleased that he has access to the potion at all. My attempts at modifying the potion are the basis of my queries to Potion Masters. I've sent owls away to the Masters in Glasgow and Cardiff. Albus suggests someone he knows in Spain. She doesn't like to take in apprentices normally, but owes him a favor and Albus sends her a letter on my behalf.

Snow begins to bury the Hogwarts grounds, and Hagrid, even with his burly strength, has a rough go keeping the paths outside shoveled. On my midnight rounds I clear what drifts I can with my wand, but my patrols normally keep me more inside.

In light of the end of this war, Albus has decided to add a few days off to Christmas break, and I scramble to prepare the children to complete their work by the 12th instead of the 18th, as my sylabus had originally called for.

The day before students are set to leave, just before dinner, a timid knock sounds from my classroom door. Despite my recent rapport with the remaining Marauders, I still have an image to maintain at Hogwarts. I sweep up from my grading at my desk and draw myself up as I answer the door.

It's a sixth-year Ravenclaw, Logan Bobica. He'd only returned two weeks before from his own loss in his family. I force myself not to be entirely too intimidating toward him. "Yes, Mr. Bobica, what is it?" I drawl.

"Professor...I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to ask you a question." He's short for his age, with sandy hair and brown eyes. His blue and silver tie is loosened around his neck, and he lacks his bookbag. He sounds unsure, but I'm silently impressed with his courage to come to me.

"If it is about the homework over break, then you should have paid better attention in class today."

"No, Sir, it's not about that." He opens his mouth a couple of times, suddenly less sure of himself.

"Well? I have grading to do, so get to your point or kindly leave," I bite out, beginning to get irritated.

Bobica takes a deep breath, "my baby sister died a few weeks ago. It was potions related and I want to know what happened. My mum won't talk to me about it, and my da hasn't spoken since it happened."

I pinch the bridge of my nose and hold the door open for him. The boy scurries in and stands in front of my desk. I sit in my chair and motion for him to pull one up. "How old was she?"

"Four. She had Dragon-Pox, only she didn't die from _that_. Mum won't tell me what happened."

Surprize no doubt etches itself onto my face. "Your mother...short and skinny? Short brown hair?"

Bobica's eyebrows raise. "Yes. Do you know her?"

I sigh. "No...I was visiting someone in St. Mungo's the day your sister died...I saw your mother, and though she didn't give me names, a nurse told me what happened."

"Professor Snape, please, I'm begging you, tell me." The boy leans forward in his seat, grabbing my desk. There's desperation in his eyes.

I sigh again, harsher, and forego my intimidation. The boy doesn't need my shit right now. "I probably shouldn't, Mr. Bobica. If your parents don't want you to know, then it would be unethical to—"

"I'm of age, Professor. I'm seventeen, and if I can stop it from happening to someone else, then I need to know where to start."

I overlook his interruption and consider for a minute. He's right, he's of age, and if he really wants to know, I am only the easiest place to glean information, not the sole resource. Perhaps I can even give him some place to start, if he intends to fix the problem. I sigh again and pick up a quill and a piece of parchment. "This is only what I understand, you must keep that in mind, Mr. Bobica. About six years ago, did either you or your siblings contract Dragon Pox?"

He furrows his brow. "No...my cousin did, and we were at their house around that time I think. I remember because Mum was so worried. She picked up a bottle of antidote but never had to use it."

"Do you remember which brand?"

Bobica chews his bottom lip as he thinks. "Er...the label was white and brown I think? Maybe in a dark bottle? It was just kind of always in the back of the medicine cabinet in Mum and Da's bathroom, and I never really needed to go in there much. I have the feeling it was an off-brand kind."

I nod. "That particular batch—perhaps anywhere from two to three hundred bottles—were contaminated by the wrong beetle wing." I get up and rummage in the storage cupboard for the beetles in question and set two jars in front of him. "These are harmonia axyridis," I point to the jar containing the orange spotted beetle. "These are coccinellidae," I push closer to him the similar looking red spotted beetles.

"They're ladybugs," he says, nonplussed.

"Generally speaking, yes, they are intercahngeable, but are extremely different in alchemical makeup. Harmonia axyridis are more acidic, too acidic, for the foxglove nectar. You see, the nectar used to be added in for taste, but too much can be deadly. Without the nectar, either wing are suitable, and harmonia certainly the less expensive of the two. Since the nectar was added, however, the potion makers needed to ensure the right wing. Coccinellidae are less acidic, and just barely don't rect volatiley with the foxglove nectar. It's a mistake that should have been caught before the wings were ever signed for by the potioneer, but it _did_ happen, unfortunately. This batch made many children sick. I think the nurse I spoke with said that three others died back then; I vaguely remember the Prophet covered it when it happened, but I didn't pay much attention to it then. While the company called for a recall, it seems that the one in your home was overlooked."

Bobica is pale, his hands shaking as he reaches for the dead bugs. "A bunch of my sister's favourite _insect_ killed her?" he spits out.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

The clock on my desk ticks away seconds of silence until Bobica murmurs, "what happened to the company? Did they have to pay?" His voice is much more acerbic than a boy his age should have.

"As far as I can remember, they paid for the medical bills and funeral costs of the children, and went out of business within the year." I'd dug briefly for the case, but it had been pretty open-and-closed, once the company paid.

He nods. "Good." He runs his hands over his face and looks up at me. "How do we make sure that this never happens again?"

I feel my brow wrinkle in surprise. "Er—I'm not certain. I'm not sure that it's possible, otherwise it would have been done before now."

"There's got to be a way to...to turn a potion a certain colour if it's bad, or for the manufacturers to let people know that it's bad?"

"Communication on that scale is impossible, even with magic." But even as I say it, I know I'm wrong. Hadn't my arm burned across a continent more times thn i could count? "Perhaps...give me the break, come back here after classes the first day back. I may be able to think of something."

Bobica nods, relief etched onto his face. "Thank you, Sir. I'm sorry to disrupt you."

I shake my head at him and wave him off. "Go on to your common room now, Mr. Bobica. I'll see you after Christmas. Don't forget about that essay. There will be a test."

Bobica nods with the ghost of a smirk. "Good-bye. Merry Christmas."

I'm taken a bit by shock at his farewell. No student has ever wished me well. "Thank you. Same to you," I stammer out.

The door closes softly behind the boy, and I chastise myself for going soft.

The overpowering aroma of Logan Bobica's teenage cologne has been absent from my chambers for only perhaps a half-hour when the echoing _pop_ of a House-Elf fills my living room, in its Hogwarts tea cozy toga and doileys threaded tight around its feet against the cold damp of the dungeon floor.

"Master Snape is getting mail, Sir," it squeaks up at me. It holds a silver tray out with an envelope atop. I take it and thank the creature; it pops back out to wherever it came from.

The envelope is simply addressed to me in a neat, small script. I tear it open and read,

 _Severus,_

 _I trust this finds you well. You never did contact me, so please don't think me presumptuous, but I've been thinking of you. I find myself alone for Christmas, and imagine you may be in the same boat. How would you like to come to mine for dinner Christmas night? I'm not much of a cook, but I can scrounge up a decent ham. Let me know what you think._

 _Yours, Mary_

Merlin, I hadn't thought of Mary too often since leaving the hospital. A slight flare of guilt makes my stomach turn a bit. She'd been kind to me, when I hadn't had it in me to be quite kind back.

I make my way to my quarters and light a fire in my hearth, set a kettle atop the flames. My sofa groans quietly when I sit and stare into the fire. I run my hand along the day's stubble on my chin as I contemplate. The mutts had begun making plans for Christmas Eve at their home, Lily for brunch the next day. Left unsaid was that this would be Lily's first Christmas without James, and Lupin, Black and I planned to stay with her as late as she would allow us. I could counter to Mary to have dinner on Boxing Day, perhaps take her somewhere so she wouldn't have to cook. Perhaps Lily would like to have Mary over for brunch. They got along well enough, but the fact that Mary had been Lily's nurse may be too uncomfortable for her.

Lily's made leaps and bounds in strength and her grief in the weeks since the funeral, but she's barely left the house. I fear she may be beginning to fear people she doesn't know, and with good reason. A close friend—close enough to be family—betrayed her. Stepping out to strangers would be terrifying. She takes Harry to the park on the corner, or for groceries only two streets away, but has had little interest when I've invited them out to lunch or even to take Harry for a couple of hours so she can have a break. It worries me, but I understand the feeling—after graduating from Hogwarts, I had turned the grief of losing the closest thing to home into being a monster. Grief does as limitless, stupid things to a person as love does.

The kettle whistles and I prepare a cup of oolong. It remains untouched on the coffee table as I drown in my thoughts for a few minutes more, before , _fuck it_ , I throw a pinch of green powder into the fireplace and call out Lily's address.

I'm spit out into her large hearth and stumble onto the carpet of her living room. "Lily?" I call. The living room is bathed in white light from the falling snow outside the windows. I'm surprised for a second that it's cold enough in her area for snow to stick, then I discern it's a charm stuck on the windows. It has Black's magical signature, one I've grown good at detecting. Lily's moved the fainting couch to the opposite wall from where I stand to make room for a large Scot's pine, decorated in mis-matching baubles and bells, multi-colored lights twinkling in the branches. Old-fashioned candles rest on the branches, lit with a charmed fire to keep from igniting the tree. Underneath is a pile of gifts, already awaiting Christmas morning.

"Kitchen," Lily calls out. Her voice is strained. As I round the corner, I see her pointing her wand at a newspaper on the counter. It's floating a few centimetres in the air, trembling as she trembles, struggling to keep it. With a harsh sigh, she lets it go, panting a bit. She turns to me with a smile, "kept it up nearly six minutes!" she exclaims proudly.

My mouth twitches with a smile, "wonderful. You're getting stronger."

"That I am. What brings you here, Sev?" Lily plants a kiss on my cheek and leads me back into the living room, sits on the fainting couch.

I take a seat on the sofa, myself. "Where's Harry?" I ask as I realize the house is bereft of his laughter.

"Remus and Sirius took him tonight," she huffs. "More like kidnapped him. I'm not completely comfortable with him being away yet, but they're probably right—I need the break."

"You'll be alone tonight?" I blurt out before I consider the implications of my question and scramble to correct myself. "Are you...comfortable with that?"

Lily's eyes glaze over minutely, her mind going far away for a moment. "I'll be all right. I—it's been getting easier these past few weeks, honestly. I mean, I think of James every day, but I don't cry at night anymore." her face flares a light pink in her embarrassment, and she changes the subject, "Anyway, what did you say you came over for?"

I let her get away with changing the subject, as I'm none too comfortable talking about it either. "I had a question...Mary owled me this afternoon."

"Mary the nurse?"

"The same," I nod.

Her face softens into a fond smile. "How is she? I've missed her."

"She's well. She invited me to dinner Christmas, actually."

Lily looks a bit crestfallen, and I wonder if she suspected the dogs and I were planning on staying with her through the evening. "Oh. That's generous of her."

I bob my head in agreement again. "That it is, however, I had thought perhaps I could invite Mary to join us here for brunch instead? If you're not comfortable with it, of course—"

"No! Of course she's welcome," Lily interrupts me. "It would be lovely to see her again."

"You're certain?"

"Yes. She was wonderful with Harry and I in Mungo's. I would love to catch up with her."

"I'll owl her tonight, then. Thank you."

Lily waves me off, then lifts herself off of the couch and asks if I've had dinner yet. She begins rummaging in the kitchen. "Actually...how would you like to go to the Leaky?" I brave the question.

She turns around, biting down on her lower lip. "I don't know, Sev..."

"Or a muggle place, if you'd prefer," i recognize some of her hesitance. "Somewhere you won't have to be the centre of attention."

She looks a bit more relieved at my suggestion, still wary, though. "I don't know that I'm ready for that."

I consider her for a brief moment before opening my mouth again. "Lily, you're never going to be ready. And the longer you stay here, without pushing yourself, the more difficult it's going to become to leave. You weren't ready to have a night to yourself, without Harry; once Lupin and Black insisted, you've been grateful for the reprieve, am I correct?"

"I suppose."

"Once you step foot out there beyond the market or play park, you'll be thankful that you did. If I'm wrong, I'll take you home at once, and even let you berate me with 'I told you so' until the end of the year," I bargain with a smirk.

Lily gives me a smirk of her own. "Fine. Let me change first. I'll just be quick." She runs upstairs and I go about tidying up and locking the doors and windows. When she comes down, she's dressed in a thin, white cableknit jumper and dark grey corderouys. Her hair is plaited down her back and long turquoise earrings jingle as she makes her way down.

I feel positively shabby in my clean-but-wrinkled black button-up and trousers, a shadow on my chin.

"Nice earrings. This way I'll be able to hear if you run away," I tease her. She smacks me in my chest.

"Where are we going, you arse?" she asks with no real venom in her voice.

"I was thinking we could floo to the Leaky and search a few blocks of muggle London for something that sounds good. What do you think?"

She smiles up at me, "that sounds great. It'd be nice to go for a walk. I'll grab a jacket, do you need one?"

I end up meeting Lily just outside the pub after returning to Hogwarts for my own jacket, where I change in a record twenty seconds into a crisp white shirt with abalone buttons and a fresh set of trousers. The stubble will just have to stay.

I will never get over the way she smiles when she sees me. I know what our outing looks like to strangers as we walk arm-in-arm down the street, eyes peeled for restaurants and myself hyper vigilant for panic attacks from Lily. This is not a date, regardless of our more than casual clothes and her hand in my elbow and the makeup she's put on for the first time since her husband's funeral. It is not a date, but my heart pounds a war drum in my chest all the same. Her rose perfume fills my nose and takes over all of my senses.

"Doing all right?" I murmur to her.

She nods, then points out a restaurant across the street. "Donna Rosa. That sounds interesting?"

"Pink woman?" I translate. "Interesting name..." we cross the street and enter the brick building. The walls are a soft cream colour, with green and earth brown accents. We're seated after only a short wait up a flight of stairs, next to a bar. It's busy on both levels, and I look to Lily to make sure she's comfortable; she nods to me in assurance.

"Looks like a wonderful menu," she says as I nod thanks to the hostess who pours our water and tells us the server will be there soon.

"That it does."

We order a cabernet with our meals, and sip it for a few minutes while waiting for our food. "How are things at Hogwarts?" she asks.

I roll my eyes. "Same as ever. I did have an interesting visitor this evening, however."

"Oh?"

"Mm. Do you remember in our fourth year, there was that big fuss in the Daily Prophet about the contaminated Dragon-Pox antidote? Apparently, not all of it was tossed; while you were still in the hospital, a little girl died from it."

"Oh no."

I nod, "well her older brother is in my classes, he's in sixth. He came by to ask for my insight into it."

"I remember that. Something with the beetles, right?"

"Correct. Wrong kind of ladybug wing; anyway, he may have come up with something, we'll have to do some research, but hopefuly we can prevent something like this from happening again."

An eyebrow nearly arches itself off Lily's face. "Severus Snape, working _with_ someone else, let alone a student? I never thought I'd see the day."

"Pick the canary out of your teeth, witch," I grumble at her. "It's a one-time deal." I cross my arms over my chest, and Lily simply laughs louder at me. It's a beautiful sound, and if my temper is the cause, she can laugh at me all she wants.

"Of course, Severus. But how will not-working-with this boy contradict with you leaving at the end of the year?"

"I'm still leaving; we may just have to put the project on hold until he graduates, or work something out with our schedules. Oh, I may have a prospect in Spain to apprentice under a Potions Mistress who owes Albus a favor."

She frowns. "How long does apprenticeship last?"

"Two years." I take in Lily's face, her expression of worry. "Don't worry. I'll come visit you whenever you need me. It's based on hours of study, so if I can work through most weekends, it should be over with sooner."

"How many hours?"

"Three and a half thousand." I chuckle at Lily's flabberghasted expression. "If we assume that I clock eight hours a day, five days a week, that's only just over a year and a half. Take into account holidays and generally three weeks in Summer, it's doable. And worth it."

"I suppose. Is it paid?"

"I'll recieve a stipend, plus I'll be boarding with the Master or Mistress who takes me on. Generally enough to buy my necessities and stash some away for after i'm finished."

She takes a long sip of her wine. "I'll miss you. Harry will miss you terribly."

"As will I. As I said, though, I'll be able to visit frequently." I take a drink of my own before bluntly changing the subject. "Did you ever get hold of your sister?"

Lily groans and rolls her own eyes. "Yes. Sent me a postcard back with only, "get well" scrawled across it. I suppose that's better than no response at all."

"I suppose. She still horse-faced and bony?"

Lily smacks my hand away from the candle in the centre of the table where I've been playing with the flame. "Even more so. I'm glad we seem to have different sets of genes completely. She takes after my great-aunt Gertie." She smirks at me. "You've really grown quite handsome, do you know?"

I sputter on my wine, taken by shock. "And I believe that's enough for you to drink until you've had something else in your stomach," I snicker. I don't take her wine away, I'm not her father after all, but she pushes it aside all the same.

"Perhaps. But it's true. You're handsome. Puberty hormes gone and the right shampoo—" I glare at her "—some better colour to your skin now that the war is over. You've even put on some weight. You've become very good-looking."

"I'm sure there's a vulture out there jealous of my nose who would disagree with you," I depreciate.

She cocks her head. "It's striking. Charismatic. Which is better than being a pretty boy. You are very good-looking, Sev."

I swallow against the lump in my throat, yearning more than anything for her compliment to be anything more than platonic, so that I may pour my own compliments on her. I want to tell Lily that she's beautiful, that the waves in her bottom-length russet-red hair follow the curves of her body perfectly, that I want to kiss the dimple in her right cheek when she smiles, that her eyes—green the exact shade of juniper leaves and just as sharp—draw me in so deeply I drown, gasping for air. I wish I could put to words exactly how stricken her laugh makes me, the way she tosses her head back and crinkles her nose, her light dusting of freckles scrunching together. I want to tell her how my heart froze and nearly shattered as I waited for her to regain conciousness, how her son thawed it out, how much I love him; he could be my own son and I couldn't love him more. Despite my vast knowledge of English, French, Spanish, German, and Mongolian languages, there are no words or phrases I could ever put together to come close to describing the poetry in her graceful movements, the melody of her voice.

I simply remain quiet, memorizing how Lily looks in this moment, reaching for the drink she'd only moments before pushed away, in her cableknit sweater, splashed with two droplets of wine on the low collar and those earrings nearly touching her collarbone when she turns her head; the way the light from the flame on the table makes her ageless.

I commit to memory her calling me handsome, how the 1968 cabernet mixes with rose perfume and freshly baked bread being brought by our server.

I love her now in a way I never have before, and I'm not going to make it out in one piece.


	9. Chapter 8

_Oh my glob, you guys. Thank you for all the reviews and all the love! I've been on a writing kick, and since things are going to get a bit hectic, I figured I'd toss y'all a bone. To the anon who wrote the lengthy, speculating review, I love the speculation and the comments. Actually, a line from the previous chapter was fitting for that-"_ _Grief does as limitless, stupid things to a person as love does" I hope that explains Sirius' attitude a bit better :)_

 _Anyway, please enjoy this chapter! XOXO_

* * *

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER EIGHT  
**

 **EXPLOSION**

* * *

Christmas morning begins at seven with the _pop_ of a House-Elf giving me my wakeup call. My head is pounding; my stomach cramps when I turn my head to wave off the Elf. When it apparates back, the crack all but splits my head right in half between the eyes.

All I remember of Christmas Eve is drinking some very strong eggnog and laughing at Black trying to teach Lily to waltz.

My stomach heaves and I barely make it to the toilet in time before retching what little contents are in it. After flushing, I swallow a dose of hangover cure and instantly feel better. Good thing, too, because I have to be at Lily's before noon to help cook, and I want to visit Narcissa and Draco beforehand. After making a cup of tea, I go through my morning routine hastily and am tying my shoes when a head appears in my fireplace.

"Lupin," I greet the scarred face. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Have you got any hangover potion? Black's whinging like a baby in here. I'm sure Lily's no better," the wolf asks. There's a touch of sadistic humor in his voice I have come to recognize whenever his lover does something particularly stupid and is suffering the consequences. Being lycanthropic, what little alcohol manage to alter Lupin, they never leave him hungover.

"Yes. I'll bring it through in a moment."

I shrink the gifts I carefully wrapped, including for today's brunch guests (marveling that I have anyone other than Draco to give gifts to) and floo over to Lily's house. It's quiet and still, and I suppose she's still sleeping. I leave a bottle of hangover cure and a note for her on the kitchen counter, with a scribble saying I'll be back at ten to help cook, then get back to the floo network.

Malfoy Manor is cold and white and bereft of any sign of people living there, as always. A very pregnant House-Elf scurries up to me before I've been out of the hearth ten seconds and vanishes the soot from my robes. "Master Snape, welcome to Malfoy Manor. May Knobby take Master Snape's robes?"

"Thank you." I hand the robes to the elf and she hangs it on the coat rack with a pole to hook it up there. "Knobby will announce Master Snape; Mistress and Master Draco are in the informal dining room."

My brow raises in question—the informal dining room was only to say "we have two dining rooms" (actually, they have three, but I digress). The Malfoys never eat anywhere but the smaller formal dining room, unless there's a gathering of the entire family, where they use the large one. I follow the elf to the small room which I have yet to see for all my visits here. There's no doors, just a large archway right before the kitchen, beyond which sits a round eight-person table in a hexagonal room with floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Mistress, Master Snape is here to see Mistress," the elf says with a wobbly curtsy.

Narcissa looks up from feeding Draco, her eyes wide.

I am floored at her appearance. Gone are the long, silken-blonde tresses around Narcissa's thin face; her hair is cropped short, her natural wild, curly black hair feathering around her face. She wears no makeup, despite years of careful application before letting anyone see her, and draped around her is a simple, still expensive, royal blue linen robe. And she's actually cutting up Draco's food for him by hand, a Belgian waffle and sausage.

"Severus," she gasps. "I didn't think you'd show up."

"Er—obviously. I just wanted to drop by gifts for the two of you. Did I come at a bad time?"

Narcissa's calculating eyes scope out my expression for judgement; she'll find none there. Her shoulders droop. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm to be at a brunch in an hour, but I wouldn't mind some tea, if that's not too much trouble."

"Knobby, prepare tea for Severus," she snaps without looking at the elf. Draco is tugging at her sleeve, demanding she feed him. Narcissa spears a piece of waffle and scoops it into her son's open mouth. He smiles as he chews, and she wipes a bit of butter from the corner of his lips.

"I—er—I like your hair," I venture.

"Thank you. It's taken quite a bit of getting used to, but it is nice not having to use a pint of Sleakeazy's every morning."

"How have you been getting on?"

She puts another forkful into Draco's mouth. He babbles while chewing and she puts a delicate finger over his mouth, shaking her head. "We don't talk with our mouth full, love." To me, she says, "fine, Severus. It's been an adjustment. We're getting along just fine, though. I've been doing my volunteer work at an orphanage for children whose parents died in the war. It's...been enlightening, to say the least."

I nod. "I can imagine." I nod my thanks to the elf when she returns with a delicate porcelain cup of steaming tea.

"Monday through Friday, eleven to three. I feed them lunch and get the younger ones settled for a nap. I find it to be good use of my time."

Narcissa has been my friend for long enough to know when she's putting on an act for the sake of the name of Malfoy. "Cut the shit, Cis," I warn her.

Her ice eyes glare at me for daring to call her out. "Don't speak like that in front of Draco," she admonishes me. Her mouth twists, thinking. "Though you're right, I suppose," she sighs. "I never thought about the children...there's even pure-blood children in there. I can't imagine how those children feel. I look at them and think how close Draco came a few times to being in one of those homes."

"I wouldn't have let that happen," I assure Narcissa.

She gives me a small smile. "This past month has given me plenty of time to think. My family is proud of me. Mother and Father always favoured me, especially after Andromeda strayed. Bella...well, she's always been a nutjob, but no matter the politics, having a daughter in Azkaban is nothing to be proud of. I've always been the favourite, the golden child." Her thoughts come out somewhat disjointed, not really giving much thought before she speaks. "My marriage, my—my—being all but _sold_ to Lucius in the name of blood purity, the balls and the charities and the parties...they've all been in the name of being a good daughter. My family and the purebloods are proud of me, but I'm not proud of myself. I don't want Draco thinking that he has to be my slave to be a good son, for me to love him. Or that he should expect unwavering loyalty and servitude from his wife. I mean, I love Lucius, on some level, I suppose. He's been a good provider and a good father. Certainly a good companion. But I've never been attracted to him. Never in love with him." She smiles wistfully as she wipes Draco's face again. "Do you remember Clarice Horne?"

I know the name, but can't put my finger on where from. She continues anyway, "oh, she was beautiful. Wavy light brown hair, dark blue eyes, lashes for _days_. I didn't recognize until I had been married for a while that I was in love with her. It broke my heart when she married Amos Diggory." A cheeky smile I haven't seen since we were children aims itself at me. "I don't think I could've loved Lucius, not truly."

I feel a blush working its way up my collar. "Are you suggesting...?"

She smirks. "Not suggesting, Severus. I love women. Well, _a_ woman, in my life, but I think I could only love them from here on out, the way I was supposed to love Lucius."

"You speak as though he's dead," I accuse. They're still married, after all, and I despise unfaithfulness.

Narcissa's eyes close briefly, before looking back up at me in pain. "He's as good as dead already, Severus, and you know it. He won't last a year in Azkaban." She blinks tears from her eyes. "Knobby!" she calls, and the House-Elf appears in the corner. "Take Draco for a bath, get him changed into some warm clothes. I think I'll take him out for a walk before we do presents."

Narcissa frees Draco from the high chair and Knobby takes his hand to lead him through to his suite upstairs. She looks at me sternly. "Lucius knew this was it for us. The last thing he said to me before the Aurors took him away was, "make yourself happy. I release you from any obligation to me but our son." She blushes slightly, "he said a few more private things, but he released me of our marriage vows. We both know that he won't make it in that prison, he won't _want_ to make it seventy years."

I nod. I don't like it, marriage is black and white to me, no grey areas. You're either married and faithful or not. But I know that I am not the Malfoys, and their private life really is none of my business. "Whatever makes you happy, Cis."

"Thank you." She clears her throat. "Now. You said you're on your way to a _brunch_? What is a brunch?"

I smirk, "It's a late breakfast/early lunch. It's a muggle thing."

Despite her epiphanies, Narcissa's mouth turns up in a sneer at the mention of muggle, but she doesn't say anything.

"It's at Lily's, with Lupin and Black."

Scandalized, Narcissa puts a hand to the base of her throat. "You're actually spending time with those two? Willingly? They made your life a living nightmare, Severus!"

I hold my hands up to stem her anger, "Lily made us all promise to be civil to each other. None of us are who we were in school, and for her, I'm willing to give them a chance."

She shakes her head at me, curls bouncing around. "I don't understand you, Severus. I wouldn't forgive them for anything."

I tap my fingers against my lips. "If Andromeda were to make amends with you, apologize for all she's done, and beg you to be her sister again, would you, even knowing you had to be around Ted Tonks?"

Her mouth purses shut, and I know I've won. "Just trust me on this," I plead.

I can't believe how much I've plead with women in the past month.

"Whatever makes you happy, Sev," she throws back at me, the words soaked with sarcasm.

Instead of countering her or getting into an argument, I pull the boxes for her and Draco out of my robes and enlarge them. The candlelight glances off the silver paper. "I need to go," I say, catching the time on my wrist. "Here. For you both. You may want to have Draco open his later, it's a bedding set with moving creatures on it."

Narcissa smiles gently. "Thank you." she reaches for hers, the smaller one, and opens the paper so as not to rip it. Inside lays a manticore hide bound book, just longer than her hand and twice as wide as her palm. The edges are gilded.

"Here. Place your wand...here," I guide, pointing to a square lock without a keyhole. She does so. "Now, put the wand tip to your finger...and your finger to the pad. There. Now it will only open for you. And only you can see what's written, everyone else will only see blank pages over your shoulder, even as you're writing."

Narcissa's face lights up. "Thank you, Severus. This is wonderful."

"My pleasure."

"I'm afraid my gift isn't as grand as this," she snickers. She leads me to the front hall, where an enormous tree has been set up. She hands me three minuscule packages, all the same size. Inside are three vials, all to be hung around the neck.

"Felix Felicius?" I wonder. I uncork the bottle and sniff. "It's perfectly brewed, not a note off."

She nods. "The other two are temporary invisibility and strength—it's supposed to take your natural strength and magnify it up to seventy-five percent."

I nod, familiar with each. "Thank you, very much. They're perfect." I slip each golden chain around my neck, each vial no bigger than the top knuckle of my thumb, just the right size for an emergency. The three sanded glass vials clink together softly, gold, silver and red liquids sloshing.

I take Narcissa's hand in mine and kiss the back. "I must head off. But I'll be visiting soon," I promised.

"Be sure that you do." She kisses my cheek and tosses a handful of floo powder into the lit fireplace.

I shout for Lily's home, and a short, rattling ride later, I'm once again in her hearth, narrowly missing the bubbling cauldron. I cast a protection around it, cursing whoever neglected to do so in the first place. It's emitting a scent of vanilla and cloves into the air, thick already with the scent of pastries and bacon. I can hear Mary speaking and a moment later, Lupin responds with a laugh. When I round the corner into the dining area, Lily looks up from where she's delicately piping choux onto waxed paper and beams at me.

"Severus! Welcome—Harry, look!" she glances down at her feet and I hear the boy get up and pad toward me.

Lily's gone mad and dipped the boy in flour, there's no other explanation for his powdery little body coming at me, leaving behind a trail of pastry flour, eyes bright with mischief.

Lily and Mary are laughing at me; Lupin's mouth is twitching behind his goddamned mustache. I'm tempted to hex it off, it looks like a quirked caterpillar.

I point my wand at Harry and the flour blows off of him in a sudden wind and is banished. He giggles at the puff of wind tousling his hair, and I pick him up into my arms and kiss his soft black hair.

"Very funny, Lily. Did you douse him in the stuff?"

She smirks at me. "He pulled the bag down just a minute before you got here. Mary was about to clean him up, but this was funnier."

"Indeed. Hilarious." I hoist Harry more securely on my hip and come to sniff around the kitchen. There's a ham in the oven, already cooked, just keeping warm. A Santa Claus-shaped plate filled with Christmas biscuits sits next to some finger sandwiches on the counter. Croissants, jams, butter, and a too-black Christmas pudding crowd around a plate of bacon and eggs.

I greet Mary with a smile. She kisses my cheek and asks about my classes, to which I respond with an eye-roll and, "this is supposed to be a happy day, not a depressing one."

She shows all of her teeth in a full-body laugh that alone makes me smirk.

"I'd have thought you would all be eating by now, my apologies for being late."

"We were just waiting for you, Severus," Black announces, coming up from the den. I cock a brow at the uncomfortable attempt at familiarity, but Lily's slanted glare locks my voice box for me. I merely nod in thanks.

"Grab a plate, everyone," Lily announces, still struggling to pipe identical eclairs onto the pan.

"Not without you, Lils," Lupin protests.

"Don't argue with me, boys. Severus, would you mind dishing up Harry, please? And Siri, get the ham out of the oven."

"Why does Severus get a please? What am I, a House-Elf? Ow!" Black rubs the back of his head where Lily whapped him with a wooden spoon.

"You'll be put in the yard if you don't hurry it up, I've got to put these in before the dough gets too set. They've been out long enough."

I put some bacon and eggs on a plate each for Harry, along with a sliver of ham and a sandwich. He reaches out for a croissant, so I cut it in half and take the other part for myself. Lily dishes up after she places the pan in the oven and when she sits we all eat, held back before by a silent agreement not to eat without her.

"Lily, thank you so much for inviting me," Mary smiles. "I didn't really have anywhere else to go."

"What about your family?"

Mary shakes her head. "My mum and step-dad are in the States with her family. I have a step-brother, but he's with his wife's family this year. The rest of my family are in America."

"Do they usually stay here?"

"Mm," she mumbles around a mouthful, nodding. "Normally. But my mum's sister just had a baby, so they went to see them."

"Just had a baby?" I ask, doing the math.

"Mum's the oldest of seven; it's the baby of them who just had her own baby."

"Seven?" Black exclaims. He whistles.

"Well Molly and Arthur have six, plus one on the way," Lily counters.

"Do they still live in that little house that belonged to Molly's uncle?" Remus questions.

"They've added on to it. It's a cute little place."

"How was it being raised with six aunts and uncles, all those cousins?" Lily asks Mary

She grins. "Tons of presents. I'm the oldest, with a four-year gap. Birthdays and Christmases I pulled in a major haul," she says conspiratorally, making us chuckle.

Lily serves the pudding (made by Black) and the biscuits (made by Lupin) and the eclairs. The hard, blackened lump the dog has the nerve to try to pass as pudding goes largely untouched, seeing as no one can get a knife into it. The biscuits and pastries are snatched up immediately.

The afternoon is spent fending off carolers and chasing Harry around the snowy garden. Lily's house sits on an acre and a half plot at the edge of a sparse wood, which lends itself nicely to a childish snowball skirmish between Lily and the dogs. Mary and I sit on the back porch beneath a warming charm, Harry teasing the flat faced ginger cat with the string from his scarf.

"I was surprised to hear back from you," Mary announces, plainly as though she's commenting on the weather.

Unsure if I would dig myself into a hole, I refrain from responding.

She doesn't let the silence rest. "I was sure you wouldn't respond to me after all this time. I'm not used to being around this many people, but I do enjoy the company. It was very kind of you to ask Lily if I could join in. I suppose it would be terribly selfish of me to take you up on dinner tomorrow as well?"

I turn to her in a self-depriciating mockery of surprise. "You would enjoy spending more time with me than strictly necessary?"

She smacks my arm gently. "You play the bastard, but I'm not afraid of you. Ever since the hospital, you're different."

Defensiveness creeps up my spine. I nearly counter childishly ("am not"), but shut my trap instead.

"You want the world to think you're this big bad ex-Death Eater, your students to be afraid to cross you. I'm no expert on your life, I know. But I _do_ know a thing or two about shutting out the world. There's so may ways to do it—I declined friendship politely, studying my arse off and claiming I was too busy to make friends. Erected a glass window where people could see me, but I couldn't see them. I suppose I was waiting for someone to throw a rock, but a few after a years I realised that people had been, and I responded with strengthening my glass. I was miserable. I realized that it was up to _me_ to throw the rock and break the glass. No one was going to save me but me.

"You...you set up a cement wall topped with barbed wire and an electric current to keep from letting anyone in, where they can hurt you." She rests a hand on the back of my own, tracing the tendons and veins that stand out there. "But in doing so, you've locked yourself in a jail. Your warden has the key, but she's so bruised herself that she can't use it, and even if she could, it would be to only let her in, not to free yourself. You haven't realized that you _own_ that jail. You can break down the walls and leave the rubble behind, but you don't have the courage, because even though it's miserable in there, it's _safe_."

Mary turns to look at me, still running her hand along mine. "Tell me I'm wrong."

My silence is enough answer for her, and she turns her attention back to Harry, who's exploring the little igloo Black built him.

"Maybe you need someone that knows how to scale walls and jump over traps. Or who knows how to dig a really deep tunnel. Someone who can show you how to escape." Once again she turns and meets my gaze, all business, expecting an answer this time.

I swallow thickly and wet my lips. "It may take a blast of dynamite."

She nods, considering, before speaking. "I have a fuse."

I don't respond to that; I don't need to. In a few simple sentances, she has completely stripped me, left me naked and unsure. So I do what I do best.

I run.

I rise and go into the kitchen and begin wrapping up dinner, casting preservation charms over the food and sticking it in the icebox. The rest of the group comes in on me scrubbing the counters by hand angrily. Sensing my mood, Lily suggests a game of gobstones to the others, and they play men versus women as I try to collect myself. When Harry gets cranky, I rock with him in his room until he falls asleep on me.

When I come downstairs, Lily, Mary, Black and Lupin are laughing, Black covered in ink from losing the game spectacularly. Their laughter ignites a fire in my belly I know all too well. Jelousy rears its ugly head and I force the beast down.

Perhaps Mary is right, on some level. I've always avoided other people, haven't I? And when I couldn't avoid them, I shoved them away. Denied entry to even the shallowest parts of me. All save for Lily. And it's tiring—Merlin, it's tiring. Waking up and preparing for a day of actively detesting people leaves me exhausted within only a few moments, and i've done it since the first time my mother explained away a bruise from my father's belt. "Don't air out our dirty laundry, Severus. Don't let the neighbours know."

Don't let the neighbours know. Well, fuck the neighbours. I'd cared too much about them, about the people around me, that I never considered that the neighbours wouldn't care about my fucked-up-edness. Just care about me. The second the thought crosses my mind, it reacts volatilely with the immediately denial that I desire anyone to care for me. It's the height of immaturity and selfishness to want someone to care about me, a twenty-one year old man. I've gotten by without anyone caring for me since I called Lily that awful name all those years ago.

 _And hasn't it been the worst years of your life? Worse than the ones you spent in your father's house?_ A voice in the back of my mind whispers.

Black and Lupin look happy. They care about each other. Aside from literally acting like children, I wouldn't exactly call them immature for wanting Lily's platonic care. I wonder in a different life, one where I had been in Gryffindor, or Lily in Slytherin, if we would have gotten on...if not well, then at least not hated each other. Jame's love for Lily grew after he and I had hated each other for years. His desire to strip me of what I held dear didn't end after he won her, but it certainly rubbed salt into that wound.

Mary's offer is like tossing meat in front of a starving dog who doesn't realize he can break his chain and gobble it up. I resolve to reach it.

I plaster on a small smile, forcing it a bit, and descend into the family room.

"Severus! You're just in time for the next round. Why don't you pair up with Remus while Sirius cleans up?" Lily giggles.

"You're a dirty cheat, Mary," Black accuses.

She puts on a face of feigned shock. "Me? You must be mistaken!"

I take Black's seat, and even though I don't particularly like the game, I play along.

It's coming on midnight when Lily finally shoos us up the chimney. "I'll be fine, you all." She's wrapped up in the pink fuzzy bathrobe Lupin gifted her, looking the happiest kind of exhausted. "Really. I'm just going to pass out right when you leave."

We all know she's lying, but some alone time is crucial for Lily in this stage of her grief, so we agree reluctantly.

"Thank you so much for inviting me, Lily. I appreciate it, and the ham was wonderful," Mary says, kissing Lily's cheeks.

"Of course. You have the leftovers?"

"In my pocket. Severus, will you escort me home? I have to floo to a pub and walk home."

I nod and shake hands with the dogs and kiss Lily's cheeks. I repeat Mary's location into the floo and meet her in a pub bereft of anyone save the barkeep. She nods to him and wishes him a happy Christmas, to which he grumbles about interrupting his clean-up.

We walk silently in the falling snow to Mary's apartment, the upper floor of a converted row house.

"Do you want to come up for some coffee?" she offers, and I see the proposition in her eyes.

I consider her for a moment. "I've...never come up for coffee," I confess. I have no romantic fantasy about saving myself, rather untempted by the choices laid out before me—namely witches like Bellatrix or beaten, drugged, and tied muggles served up to we Death Eaters after a rampage. Neither were options I could stomach.

She smirks, understanding me, takes my hands and walks backwards through her front door. "It's easy. You just put one foot in front of the other."

I lean in to kiss Mary's full lips, and before I know it, I'm upstairs in her bedroom, pulling down the zip on the back of her skirt, shimmying it down her legs. Her thigh-highs slip down her skin like a hot knife through butter, and I'm stricken by how soft her skin is. I couldn't tell you anything about her home, save for her bedspread is lavender and periwinkle, because the pastel colours accent her light brown skin.

She quietly directs me how to touch her, speaks the road map to her body so as not to discourage me. I am unprepared for the bitter, salty, remarkable taste of her clenching slit, but like wine I acquire the taste quickly and set about savouring her eagerly.

When I sheathe myself in her still-quivering sex, I don't last more than a few awed thrusts. She holds my head to her breast as I pant, erratically, listening to her heart beating against her chest, and I'm sure my own is about to burst through my ribs.

I'm left sleepy and surprised at myself. I hold Mary close to me, neither of us cleaned up, still naked, and press kisses to her shoulder and hair.

"Thank you," I whisper when she's only a moment from sleep. My voice catches and cracks a bit.

Mary runs a hand lightly along the arm pinning her tight to my chest, luring me to a deep, true sleep for the first time ever.


	10. Chapter 9

_Hello, everyone. It's been a long time, I know, but I had a kid in the hospital a week before we moved, and now we've finally moved and gotten settled in a bit, and it's all just been insane, but I finally had some time to write, thank goodness! At the end of this chapter is a bit of a...not quite a rant, but I had some confused and angry readers from last chapter, and to those still reading, there's a bit at the bottom for you :)_

 _I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please review! XOXO._

* * *

FRESH RAIN

CHAPTER NINE

OPPORTUNITY

* * *

I wake in the morning to find myself alone in Mary's bed. I can hear the shower running from down the hall, though, and assume she's in there. A long look around the room tells me what I was too preoccupied to take in last night. It's a decent sized room, enough to hold a bed and chest of drawers. There are framed pictures littering the chest, and jewelry haphazardly strewn about the top. Clothes are flung over a simple rice paper screen and on a chair in the corner. The bed is against the window, and the deep window-ledge is also scattered with baubles and knick knacks and pictures. Mary is not a tidy person, and her room makes my fingers twitch to fix it.

Instead, I rise from the bed swiftly and cast a simple cleansing charm over my skin as I hear the water stop through the open door. It'll have to do until I can sink myself into my own tub. I attempt to shake the wrinkles from my clothing, but am unsuccessful; a charm will not do to remove them, as I long ago learnt to imbue my clothes as to be impervious to magical manipulations. As I'm buttoning the last button at the neck of my shirt, Mary enters the bedroom, wrapped up in a towel. She gives me a small smile on her way to her chest of drawers and begins picking out her clothing.

"Good morning," I greet.

"Morning. Did you sleep well?" She disappears behind the screen to change.

"I did. Yourself?"

"Very well." She gives a self-conscious chuckle. "Better than I've slept in ages. I always seem to sleep better with someone in the bed next to me." The teal terrycloth towel lands atop the screen with a dull wet snap.

I merely hum, unsure how to respond. She's always so frank and honest, no coyness or shyness.

I have no such ability to bare myself to others. I think and overthink until any situation, any remark, is warped from off-handed and innocent to cruel and biting. I have no need to assume the worst or mull over conversations with Mary, and I appreciate it. She never blends her words, never sugar-coats.

The only thing I wonder now is whether last night was a mistake or not. As Mary rounds the screen, I clear my throat, searching for something to say. "Thank you for last night." I'm appalled as soon as the words leave my mouth. Surely I can do better than to make her sound like a prostitute.

Miraculously, she simply smiles and pecks me a kiss on the cheek. "My pleasure."

I stand, rooted to the spot, unsure what to do. Should I leave? Do I offer to take Mary to breakfast? Before I can let myself overthink too much, I force myself to respond to her bluntness in kind. I clear my throat and ask, "what now?"

She grins. "Are you hungry?"

Not really, but I nod anyway.

We end up eating at a little cafe down the street from Mary's flat, and when we're done we apparate our separate ways—I to the Hogwart's gate, Mary to work. Before we go, she asks me to meet her for lunch the next day, and I agree with a smile. She leans in and kisses me sweetly, her smile curving against my mouth, and with a cheeky wink, she's gone.

The rest of Christmas break, I manage to get quite a lot of work done. I restock Pomfrey's medicines and work a bit on an article about the benefits of Rocky Mountain sapphires I intend to submit to Potions Monthly. Between the grading done earlier in the break and the extra week bestowed by Albus, I find myself with an abundance of free time for the last few days before school resumes.

And when it does resume, it brings with it a letter, written in a feminine, hurried script, and splotched with ink and what I expect is a potion of some kind. It's written in Spanish, with a translation spell placed on it, though I am able to read it anyway.

 _Professor Severus Snape,_

 _When you were a boy in school, Horace Slughorn wrote me numerous times about your brilliance in the art of potion making. I heard much less about your illustrious abilities as your years at Hogwarts came to a close, but always held out hope that we would meet._

 _Imagine my surprise when none other than Albus Dumbledore sent recommendation that I should consider you for apprenticeship. He claims you have grown in your talent and knowledge, and I sent word that I am quite intrigued immediately. If nothing else convinces me, the trust Albus placed in you to become Professor before obtaining your Mastery. If you are still searching for a Master—Mistress, as case may be—to study under, I urge you look no further._

 _I have been a Potions Mistress for eighteen years, have traveled the world—magical and muggle—refining my craft, and have impressed that knowledge on to no less than thirteen apprentices, all of whom came through their Mastery exams with flying colours. I daresay, with no touch of modesty, that I hope you have read some articles of mine in a few European and American periodicals._

 _As for what I can offer you, Professor Snape, I have a quaint cottage behind my laboratory, which is on the same plot of land as my own home, though rest assured, in a thicket of trees to provide your privacy. Room and board will be provided—you will be able to shop for your meals on my accounts. A monthly stipend will be arranged at one hundred fifteen Galleons per month. Holidays, of course, can be arranged, however I am agreeable to perhaps a week around Christmases, and the odd long weekend here or there, as I understand from Albus' letter that you wish to collect your hours as quickly as possible._

 _If you are interested in the position, please send word back, along with any accommodations you would like for me to consider, and a sample of your work, anything would do._

 _I do so look forward to hearing from you soon, Professor._

 _Yours, Bianca Marckwordt_

My blood runs hot and cold at once, adrenaline and fear disarming me of any ability other than to sit in my seat and breathe raggedly and re-read the letter twice, thrice.

A guaranteed apprenticeship. She was practically begging me to study under her. The adrenaline I knew was from the approval, the no questions asked approval of my studying under Mistress Marckwordt. The utter fear of not measuring up to her expectations of me. I knew I would have to send in something exemplary. Veritaserum might do it. Or Living Death. Even a Polyjuice, though no, that would take too long to brew.

Oh. But the cauldron simmering in my private lab, only three days away from its test, which I would have to take to Lupin tonight anyway...that may do. I had been able to alter the taste, and potentially the potency. The encapsulation of mint and a pinch of sugar in coconut oil has worked for the taste, Lupin says, and the armadillo bile was unable to dissolve the oil in my early tests, so I have high hopes that it could work. The smell remains horrid, but the taste, according to Lupin, is much more tolerable. Theoretically, if I could be able to apply the same technique to the aconite, I could refine it so a higher dosage could be released steadily and non-lethally over a shorter period of time—perhaps as short as three days. My test subject—my lycanthropic guinea pig, as it were—places his willingness on taking that bet on whether or not my theory eases the taste but not effectiveness for this transformation.

It's nearly an hour early, but in my eagerness, I floo over to the dogs' home. Upon landing in their hearth, I startle them and embarrass all three of us; Lupin is cooking a steak for Black (at least I assume it's for him, as a raw steak sits under a warming charm on a plate nearby). The view from the fireplace at the centre of their living room awards me a straight view into their kitchen and dining room, where Black is pressed up against Lupin's back, nibbling on the wolf's neck, as Lupin emits a sound I never again wish to hear from the man, somewhere between an honest to goodness growl and a moan.

"Ahem," I clear my throat. Black jumps about three feet in the air, drawing his wand, but I am quicker to draw my own and unarm him. His wand flies into my hand and after his surprise wears off—in the matter of two seconds—he shoots me an irritated look and holds his hand out. I place the wand in it and smirk at him, "those kind of reflexes and they've still kept you on? Pity, we're all doomed, unless a gang of blue-haired grannies have begun a coup at St. Oswald's."

"Hilarious, Snape. What do you want? You know, Remus' fight-or-flight is heightened right now, he could've attacked you."

Lupin scoffs, "and lose my potions supply? I don't think so. Besides, I heard him coming." He tips the steak off the pan and onto a plate already loaded with potatoes and grilled vegetables. He brings Black's plate and his own—devoid of anything save from a bloody, raw steak—to the table. "I can cook you something up, Severus, if you're hungry."

I shake my head. "No, that's fine. I already ate," I lie. Lupin can tell it's a lie, but lets it go. Black, however, has already begun on his potatoes. He shrugs in my direction.

"What brings you by, Snape? I believe this is the first time you've been in our home for more than the thirty seconds it takes to administer the Wolfsbane Potion," Black asks as he spears a forkful of potatoes.

"I have it with me," I assure them as I reach into my inner pocket and pull out a goblet full of the potion, emitting a faint blue smoke.

Lupin jerks his head toward the kitchen counter. "Would you put it over there, please? The smell will put me off dinner." He nods a thanks as he takes a large bite from his food; blood spatters onto the enlarged plate. It's enough to put me off my own dinner. No prejudice toward Lupin, but werewolves' appetites are positively disturbing the week or so before the full moon. Nothing but raw meat.

After the potion is safe smelling distance away from even Lupin, I sit at their table. "Actually, there was a reason I wanted to come a bit early. I received a letter from a Potions Mistress in Spain who is very interested in having me study under her."

"Congratulations, Severus. That's quite the compliment, if she asked you."

"Well, Dumbledore sent her a letter first, however, she has heard of me from my own days as a student, and hoped one day she would have the opportunity to teach me herself."I say it off-handedly, but it comes out a bit boastful, and I brace myself for the looks of reproach.

Instead, Black, in a moment of absolute insanity, tells me, "you should be proud of yourself. That's not something most students or masters can say."

I blink in his direction, but he's concentrating on his own steak. I don't dare look at Lupin; the slurping sounds coming from him are enough to ward me from that.

"So what can we help you with?" After Lupin has devoured his last bite and drank his tumbler of water. He's finished both before Black can eat one of his portions on his plate.

I give my head a slight shake. "Right. Well, I was wondering if I could use the adaption of the Wolfsbane potion as my sample to send in to her. And possibly another theory I have in mind..." I briefly describe the possibility of encapsulating the aconite to alter the strength and dosage of the potion.

Lupin nods and rubs his chin when I am finished speaking, thinking. Black flicks his wand at the dishes, which scoot themselves into the kitchen sink and the brush begins scrubbing.

"If we could use Grimmauld Place to test it out—I would be willing to. We could use the basement, that's where we're going during this full moon," he says to Black. He looks to me, "just in case something goes wrong with your new potion."

Black's face darkens. "I don't like the idea of you being chained up in that place. Is there anyone else we know who could test it in place of you?" He asks his lover.

"You know there isn't," Lupin murmurs. "Besides, it's one transformation."

"Two, including this one. And if it doesn't work? Will you submit yourself to more trials? It's not good for you."

I sit back and watch the two of them hash out their argument, their voices rising, forgetting I'm still sitting at their table. It's entertaining to watch the two of them bicker, but the fierce protectiveness and fear Black has for Lupin blooms a distinct ache in my chest.

Finally, Lupin wrenches himself from the table, slams a hand down on the wood, and snarls, "how many more need to suffer? Werewolves everywhere are struggling to pay for just the Wolfsbane Potion, going hungry and homeless, just so we don't infect someone else, or suffer the pain of the transformation. If I can assist in putting an end to that, then I will, goddamn it!"

Black tosses his napkin on the table and rises to meet Lupin's eyes. "Seven months, Remus! I spent seven months not knowing if you were well, not knowing if you were alive, imagining the worst every time I looked up at the moon. Learning you only went three months without your potion was a relief, because I thought you were suffering the entire time we were apart, because like the near-sighted fool you can be, you refused to accept my help to pay for it. You cannot continue to martyr yourself for your pride. Don't you fucking growl at me, Remus. It's noble in some cases, but in this it is stupid. One month to see if Snape's theory works is one thing. I won't stand by and let you submit yourself like some lab animal for testing, when there are dozens of other wolves who would line up for the chance. I'm not budging on this, Remus. I won't watch you torture yourself."

Both breathe heavily for long moments, then Lupin turns to me. "Thank you for bringing me my dose. I will consent to trying at least one month of your test potion. After that, if it doesn't work...we'll decide from there." He turns his head back to Black, and I am effectively dismissed.

"Very well." I stand from the table and toss a pinch of floo powder into the fire and am whisked away home.

My empty home greets me, and I feel it profoundly. The clock on the wall ticks away, as I feel the silence press against me. I strip and sink into a bath, scrub away the day, and when my skin is pink and raw, I fold a bathrobe around myself and fall into bed, still dripping wet, the bed far too large.

The full moon lands on a Saturday, and considering what date it is, I am...if not eager, content to spend it in Black's childhood home, his lover chained in the basement. We can't go down to check on him, in case the potion didn't work, but judging by the lack of thumps and howls after the sun sets that night, I feel we can assume it worked.

It's only Black and I in this large house, and the air is thick with tension. We mostly sit in the front room reading silently in front of the fire—he a cheesy muggle murder mystery, I a sample of Mistress Marckwordt's writing. She's extraordinary—her work with milk thistle and clover honey proved to relieve pain from splinching better than any other method. I've nearly finished my letter of acceptance to her, after tonight's results I'll be able to finish it and send it off first thing in the morning.

At nearly eleven, Black stretches and yawns. "I think I'll go to bed in a few," he says through the yawn.

I nod. "I'll stay on the couch," I reply. Merlin knows I have no interest in sleeping in a Black bed.

The fireplace flashes green and roars to life, startling Black into a standing position. The hearth spits out Lily, who stumbles and adjusts herself quickly, and brushes soot off her bathrobe.

I stand from the couch and rush to her. "Is everything all right? Where's Harry?" At this time of night, a visit from her only incites worry.

"Harry's fine, he's asleep at home. I can't stay but a minute, I just wanted to give you this. Hi, Sirius," she smiles over at him.

"You scared the shit out of me, woman," he grumbles.

Lily rolls her eyes and tugs a long package out of her bathrobe pocket, handing it over to me.

I try to tamp down the flush that raises to my face. "You didn't have to do that, Lily."

She's still holding out the present to me. "I wanted to. I imagine you haven't had many of these since...well, since fifth year."

My birthday. A day I preferred to pass without fuss, without recognition. Albus has always ensured I receive a small bonus on my birthday, but Lily's correct—the last true birthday present I received was from her in our fifth year—a set of dragonhide gloves, inlaid with soft brown fur. I still have them, set with my winter cloaks.

I reach out and take the package gingerly. Despite my trust in Lily, there's a part of me afraid it's a trick.

"What? Is it your birthday?"

Lily nods for me.

"You should've told us. We could have had a...get together or something. Celebrate." His attempt to truly be kind to me is awkward and stilted, but somehow appreciated nonetheless.

Still—"No. No celebrations. It's simply another day."

Lily cocks her head to the side. "Severus has never liked his birthday to be celebrated. Every time I tried to give him gifts, he got all embarassed and flustered," she chuckles.

I glare at her, she ignores it and taps the package in my hand.

I pull the silver string from the brown paper wrapping and unfold it to reveal a long wooden box stamped with an Italian seal. Inside, cushioned in silver silk, sits a griffin feather quill with a silver nib.

"Lily..." I whisper, astonished.

"It's imbued with magic to protect your work—your treasures. It won't stop anyone from reading it, but they can't steal or copy it. I figured, with you creating your own potions and spells, it would come in handy."

I lift the quill out of the box—it's light, with a lovely balance and white and grey feathers. "Thank you," I say. "This is amazing."

Her face lights up and she grasps my hand, giving it squeeze. "I'm so glad you like it. You're impossible to shop for, do you know that?"

I smile and squeeze her hand back quickly before releasing it. "It's perfect. It will definitely be of great use."

"Good. I should get back to Harry, though. He's been sleeping through the night, but I'd hate for him to wake up and know I'm gone. Good night. Oh, tell me how Remus does."

We say our good-byes and she leaves up the chimney.

Black starts up the stairs shortly after, going to sleep. I stay on the couch, transferring my notes on my altered Wolfsbane Potion to a fresh notebook with my new quill. The words shimmer silver for a moment, setting the magic in the paper, then turn black.

Such is my excitement for my gift, I don't sleep a bit, instead scribbling everything I've been working on in this book, including the ideas Bobica and I considered when he came to my office the day term began again. After swearing him to secrecy, I showed him my Dark Mark and explained how it worked. Immediately, realization shone in his eyes, and he asked if the spell could be applicable to inanimate objects instead of people. I would have to find the spell the Dark Lord used and be able to alter it somehow, but I have a pretty good idea where to start. I just need to think of a way to get Narcissa to let me look through her husband's things.

At dawn, Black comes downstairs in a hurry. "Have you slept? You look horrible."

Without even looking up at him from my work, I reply, "you look horrible and you did sleep, so what are you basing looks off of?"

"Shut up, Snape. Let's go see if that potion worked."

In the basement—well, it's technically just a basement, but it's set up like a dungeon—behind a barred steel door, sits Lupin, naked and weak, but not bleeding. When he sees us, he reaches out and takes the robe Black hands him and put it on while the door is unlocked.

"How did it go?" Black asks as he pulls his lover into his arms. Lupin leans against him for a long moment and breathes him in tiredly.

"It went well," he murmurs in a scratchy voice as he pulls back. Black puts an arm around his shoulders to help steady him. "Nothing was different save for the taste of the potion. You did it, Severus." He grins widely at me, and the grin turns into a yawn.

I meet his smile with one of my own. "Perfect. Thank you for being willing to test it out."

"Thank you for making it."

"Yes. Thank you, Snape." Black reaches his hand out to me and I grasp it in my own, shaking it firmly. "I think I need to take him home now," he says when Lupin stumbles. "Would you mind locking up?"

I nod. "Go take care of your wolf. I'll secure everything here."

When I finally make it back to Hogwarts, I immediately set about writing a letter.

 _Mistress Bianca Marckwordt,_

 _I was stunned to receive your letter. The eagerness with which you seek my apprenticeship is indeed flattering, and I gratefully accept._

 _My apologies for responding only after so long, however, I was testing out a potion this full moon, and wished to send in that sample as the one you asked for. A werewolf acquaintance of mine wondered if it would be possible for the potion to taste better and still be effective. Last night proved that it could. I used coconut oil to encapsulate mint and just a touch of sugar. The armadillo bile has no affect on the oil, but the test subject's stomach acids do, lending to the ability to taste something akin to toothpaste. The werewolf in question awoke this morning no worse than normal._

 _I also have other theories as to where this approach could go, and look forward to researching them under your guidance. I must see this school year through its end, and take some time to set my affairs straight. The first of July, I could be available, if that is agreeable with you._

 _Enclosed are the notes for the potion sample I am sending with you. My thanks again for your consideration, and I greatly look forward to begin working with you._

— _Severus Snape_

I ascend to the owlry, pick an owl that has not just come in this morning, tie the letter and small parcel of potion to his leg, and send him off.

Finally. A chance to be free of students. A chance to do with my life what I truly wish to do. A chance to make a good name for myself. I feel one step closer to being free.

* * *

 _So, to those who it may concern, I'd like to address the last chapter. There was a shitton of hate for last chapter, all revolving around Mary's involvement, especially after the chapter before last, and to be honest, I thought I've made it very clear that Severus—at this point—has no hope, no belief of chance that he will ever earn Lily's romantic love. He wants her, of course, but he doesn't believe he will end up with Lily, and after nearly six years without kind touch (22 without romantic touch), he's lonely. So when a woman who called him out on his barriers and offered an olive branch, asks him to bed, it's not a shock that he would agree. Severus is loyal, yes, but he's also not one to fool himself. He wasn't a good person in the books—he was cruel to the son of the woman he loved, and he ended up a hero, that's true, but he wasn't a kind person, and Lily would have been furious had she seen how he treated Harry. I want Severus to turn out different, but pining away for a woman he can't have—or thinks he can't have, anyway—will only end up unhealthy for him. Sex with a friend is not a commitment. It's not a proposal. Sex and love are two totally different things, and yeah some people feel they work better together—I know I do—, but not all feel the same. Those who pointed out that for him to go from not being tempted to wanting Mary, didn't read the part about his options being other Death Eaters or rape. He's human. He wants that connection and closeness and release. Perhaps I didn't explain that enough, and if the chapter needs revision in that aspect, then I'll do it gladly, but Mary and Severus' relationship is essential. This is Snily, so eventually, I promise you, it's gonna happen. But Sev has issues to work through, Lily is still mourning her dead husband, and I'm sorry, but if you think any situation where Lily goes, "oh, my husband's dead, may as well turn to my childhood friend who's just gotten back into my life" is a healthy one, then this story is not for you. This is a slow story, and we will get there, and beyond. Someone asked if Mary's presence was to teach Severus about sex, and it's as if they didn't read Mary and Snape's conversation last chapter. I'm not saying you have to like Mary, and if you don't like the direction this story is going, then fair enough, don't read it, that's fine, because I know others will. I understand and respect and take into account negative reviews—especially about writing style and ability in general, I always look to improve. But don't assume that because you don't like what's happening, I'm going to change my direction. I'm absolutely in love with my work, and with who Severus is going to be, and who he and Lily are going to be together in the future. I hope my readers will stick around to see them through their journey._

 _Anyway, sorry for the rant. I hope it cleared some confusion up, and I'm sorry if I offended anyone, I just needed to get all that off my chest. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. XOXO._


	11. Chapter Ten

_Holy shit you guys. If you're still reading this, you're a good sport. I've had a helluva time lately. Main problem is my computer not working, so I had to wait until after taxes to get a decent one, but I've been writing this chapter over...mmm...two, three months? I love my kids and my job, but they're major time sucks. I'll tell you that I can't promise any good timeline for updates, but now that I have a working computer, it shouldn't take six fucking months again. I hope you like this chapter, it's very sad. And Microsoft Office is being a bitch and a half, so if I missed anything in editing, pretty please let me know so I can fix it._

 _Seriously, I love you guys. XOXO_

* * *

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER TEN  
**

 **BREAK ME  
**

* * *

Time is a tricky, fluid thing. If someone told me the week that Lily was in the magically induced coma could have lasted years and I wouldn't have argued. In the months between Christmas and the end of term, merely a handful of days.

The Sunday dinners at Lily's house have continued, though I've only been able to attend a little less than half of them, due to my work schedule. Finals are careening toward me steadily, and with them more grading and prep work and headaches. Lupin had, indeed, taken the first batch of my new experimental potion, and it hadn't worked. Black glared at me all night that February night as his lover thrashed and howled and raged against his cage. Lupin refused any more experimentation, which I couldn't begrudge, but promised to ask some of his werewolf acquaintances when he met them. No luck, so far.

I'd seen Mary a handful of times over the spring. We had no romantic aspirations to each other, but took comfort in the others' beds (or shower. Or kitchen table.) whenever we could. I could sense her becoming distracted, though, and she'd been talking about a colleague of hers when we spent time together innocently. I wondered how much longer I had until my left hand would have to make up for Mary's absence.

With the end of the school year, and my employment within those stone walls, there has come a sense of anticipation and eagerness that belongs not only to the students, but myself as well.

Such a thing has driven me to prove my worth, to make this school regret losing such a valuable member of staff. My insipid pupils have taken it upon themselves to prove that they are as intelligent as an inbred batch of flobberworms.

The cacophony the morons create the second to last day before finals reverberates off the stone walls, echoing in my head and pounding down my spine.

"Silence!" I roar to the classroom. Silence does, indeed, follow, and I cast my best glare at the group of third-year Gryffindors and Slytherins.

"No brewing today. For your blatant disrespect-and idiocy-you will all read and summarize chapter twelve of your books. Due at the end of class. Begin."

A chorus of grumbling meets my tired ears, sweet as music, then the rustling of pages and blessed quiet. After I am sure they are all concentrating on their own work, I pull a book out of my robes. It's small and black, one of three identical ones I found while rummaging through Lucius' things looking for answers about the Dark Mark for Bobica. Along with three or four spellbooks that looked promising (all banned in Europe, of course), were these three blank diaries with an air of Dark Magic around them. One thrums heavier and more sinister with Darkness than the other three, and I dared not bring it to class to study. There's something abjectly wrong with that one. I can determine the particular magical signature wafting from the book as the Dark Lord's.

I place the book on my desk, behind my shield charm-my only protection against idiots-and just look at the ting for a few minutes. I've cast spell reversal charms and revealing charms and even used muggle black lights to try reading something on those blank pages.

Nothing.

The scratching of quills irks me, disrupting my thinking. It's nearly enough to make them stop but that may come across as generous and I don't do generous.

It's a diary, I register, finally, my own stupidity finally dawning on me. It's meant to be written in. I pick up my quill, dip the nib into the red ink I reserve for grading, and let a drop fall onto the paper. It shimmers a moment, pearlescent, then is absorbed into the diary. Disappears. The book flips open the fir first page, where three droplets of ink rest in the page, in black ink.

Ah. That must be the trick. I know I musn't do anything more until I am free of classes. The anticipation irritates me as much as the scratching of quills has and reduces my limited stores of patience even further.

At the end of the class, I summon papers, some students still scribbling furiously, and fan them out. Holding the semi-circle of papers up for the whole class to see, I point my wand and cast Incendio, then drop the flaming work into the bin.

Gasps follow the incantation, and I am satisfied that this is a lesson in respect well-learned.

"Do I make myself clear?" I ask quietly. Nods and angry murmurs reach my ears and I dismiss the lot of them. I only have to see them once more, on Thursday, and that's the only thing keeping me from following them down the hall with the fire after one of the Gryffindor shits rolls her eyes at me.

Hours later, in my blessedly silent rooms, i again open the diary. I ready my quill and poise it over the first page. What would I be searching for? Dark Mark? I write it in, the paper shimmers and drinks in the ink, and nothing happens. I flip through, and still blank papers.

Voldemort, I try again, bile rising as I force the vile name onto the page.

Red light, just a glow, beams sporadically through the book from within the pages, the first brighter than the rest. I turn the page and find, in black ink, in an unfamiliar cursive, the name at the top of the page-TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. Below that, random words, beginning with the root MORT. The French word for death. It's placed in the beginning, middle, ends of nonsense words which I quickly realize are developing anagrams for the Dark Lord's given name. it continues as such over a few pages, slashed out more and more viciously as frustration at failure grew.

Finally, on the last page, he seemed to have taken a different approach. I AM is written at the top of a new page, with the given name, the I, A, and M crossed out. More long-lettered nonsense, until he seemed to realize that LORD was under there. Halfway through the page, I AM LORD -MORT is written, underneath that, the assembled random leftover letters which were played with until they reached what I recognize.

At the bottom of the page, written beautifully, all frustration gone from his penmanship-

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Crossed out neatly, with purpose, then under that-

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Pages after that which glow between the diary's pages were where Voldemort had been written in entries.

I slam the book closed, and the glowing ceases. It would seem that he had hidden his writing from everyone-including himself-unless you knew what to ask for.  
Desperately, I try again-tattoo-summoning-tracking-nothing comes.

I close the little book and pick up another-less worn than either of the previous, but I am not ready to open the one which radiates Dark Magic, and looks like it should be in-between the two, based of how handled they look. The stench of it fills my chambers, and I'll have to cast multiple cleansing spells to get rid of it.

My first search in, this book yields exactly what I am looking for. The pages glow red and the first glowing entry tells me everything that I have been looking for. I can hardly believe my luck as I read.

"I think I may have done it. A way to call my followers to me when I need them. To reach them across a country, an ocean, to call them to me. It must be placed into skin, drawn on by a wand with the incantation. I had thought, perhaps, something simple and easily hidden, but more and more I wish my followers to be reminded daily of their allegiance to me. Traitors will not be tolerated.

"Siberia is cold and unforgiving, but I found a fox-a feral, nasty, filthy thing, half-starved anyway. I cast the spell on him, drew a simple line into the skin of his underbelly, where the fur was thinnest, and then I put him to sleep for an hour as I walked away.

"I then summoned him to me, calling him by pressing my finger to my own mark I made last month. It took him thirty minutes, but he came charging to me, and lay at my feet, ears back and belly exposed in submission.

"Success tastes sweet indeed. I had no use for a sickly little fox, so his suffering was quickly ended. I wonder if I could mark the Basilisk as such. I leave next month for Hogwarts again, and if that fool denies my request for employment, perhaps I can sneak into the Chamber of Secrets and if nothing else, prepare her for servitude to me."

Below is the spell, along with the directive to draw the Mark on the person as wished,

Ig in sanguis, venite dominus, fidelitio aut matem

I was too much agony during my own initiation to hear or remember the words the Dark Lord was saying, but something in them resonates in my soul.  
I close the book, thoughtful. It wouldn't do to try to create what Mr. Bobica and I are trying to achieve with larger scale communication with inspiration using the Dark Mark. Not that I expected as much. Coming back empty-handed to the boy after Christmas didn't discourage him. He still has hope that he'll invent something, and the determination to boot.

I let my gaze linger on the unopened diary. Finding out secrets that lay within the first two-one from Tom's earlier days starting at Hogwarts, the other from after he'd graduated, recounting his wanderings and learning experiences-had been uncomfortable and I am sitting, still trying to keep the hairs on the back of my neck down.

I decide not to open the neglected diary, sitting there smelling worse than the others, and feeling even more sinister by simply existing. I gather all three and take them to Albus.

I explain the curiosities about the two I explored, a cup of tea and a tin of lemon drops ignored next to me. I show how they are blank until requested for information. The look on the Headmaster's face is one of astonishment and intrigue.

"Severus..how did you get these?" he asks quietly, unable to erase all of the suspicion from his voice.

Bitterness enters my voice as I tell my lie, so rehearsed that even I half believe it. "Narcissa has been cleaning out the manor. She recognized the Dark Magic coming from them and gave them to me. She asked that I destroy them, however, I noticed this one seems darker. I figured that it would be best to bring it to you."

Albus looks over the three little black books, a carefully-placed look of curiosity on his face, no apology for his distrust in me. Now that I have revoked my servitude to him, Albus is less trusting with everything he says or does around me. Certainly it's frustrating that my trustworthiness to this man I was a spy for is now under scrutiny simply because the carrot he dangled-Lily's safety-is mine. But besides the affront to my dignity, I can't bring myself to care. He'll have to figure this mystery out on his own. After a few minutes of him silently looking over the books, Albus sets them aside and nods to me in thanks. "Tell Mrs. Malfoy that if she comes across anything else she is suspicious of, that I would deeply like to study it."

I nod in agreement, though I have no intention of doing so necessarily.

The old man's demeanor changes with a simple sigh, from intense and calculating to twinkly grandfather. He smiles as he speaks. "So, my boy. There's only a few days left in term. Are you eager to be out of here?"

"I am looking forward to my next venture, yes," I answer. No need for him to know how ready I am to be done with this place.

"All of your things in order?"

I nod. The few belongings I wish to bring with me I am able to shrink and bring in a suitcase. My lab instruments, more sensitive to magic, I'm having shipped to Ms. marckword's home, where they'll await my arrival in July. We had settled on mid-July rather than the first, as I had originally wished, as she was vacationing in South America this summer. The only thing left to deal with is my home in Spinner's End, which has been on the housing market for two months without much interest. The realtor suggested that I invest some money in remodeling to gain more interest. I agree-the place is an old row house stuck in the forties. It also feels sinister in a way, thought that may be from my past and memories therein. Perhaps if I reinvent the house it will purge the bad energy, either real or imagined.

"Getting there," I reply. "I have only the house to sell. I intend to spend the six weeks I have free to get the place inviting to potential bidders.

Albus smiles widely. "On to new adventures, then, my dear boy! Spain is beautiful, particularly the coast."

He pulls two small wine goblets from his desk and pours brandy in each. He passes one to me and toasts.

"I'm not going to be able to enjoy the coast much, Albus," I remark after I drink. I can always trust the Headmaster to have good spirits.

"Ah," he waves his hand, shooing my protests like a fly. "It's not only the coast. The woods surrounding Blanca's property are sure to hold your interest. Not to mention the ladies."

I snort. "It is the last stop on a pilgrimage trail. I doubt I'll find many ladies willing to enjoy a wizard." I shake my head at him and down the last of the brandy.

"Besides," I sigh, "I have no interest in beginning a romance whilst being consumed with my mastry work. I have no need for that amount of stress."  
Albus smirks and nods in acquiescence. "I suppose. Ah, well. You're young yet. You've plenty of time before settling down. Finally meet a girl worthy of your qualities."

The words are innocent, but I understand the warning. Take this time to leave Lily alone.

I neither confirm nor deny that I understand Albus' words, but end the meeting shortly after. Albus thanks me again for turning the diaries over to him as I take my leave. I nod in response and bid him goodnight.

Six days later, I am finally, finally free. No longer chained to those stone walls, the tiresome children, the infernal moving staircases.

The clamor of children fades from the halls around noon, as they head to Hogsmeade and the train. I pull my suitcase to the entryway, prepared to apparate away to a new life. last night I had roamed the halls, visiting my classroom one last time, bidding farewell to the solitude the owlry has always given me. I'd said my good-byes to the only colleagues I have a damn about-Minerva and Albus-the day prior. Taken one last bath in my glorious tub this morning.

At the gates of Hogwarts, I turn and look upon the castle and grounds. The breeze shifts the Whomping Willow's limbs, and I quickly glance away from that damned tree. Hagrid is bent over his garden, his stupid Mastiff nursing her newborn pups not far away. I know inside that castle is an end-of-year party tonight which I've never attended held by the other professors and staff. Which I will never again have to make my excuses for.

I sigh, breathing in the fresh summer Highland air, and raise my wand above me to apparate away.

I land in my house in Spinner's End. Every cell in my being resents the necessity of returning to this dingy house.

The garden out front is overgrown and I know the back will be no better. The creaky door opens to a sitting room big enough to hold only two small chairs in front of the fireplace. How my father ever managed to fit his old staticky black and white television set in that room still defies the laws of physics. Directly behind my father's old chair is the kitchen, and to the right of that, the stairs. On the upper floor is a landing scarcely large enough to turn around on, my tiny childhood bedroom on the left, the master dead ahead, and the third bedroom and bathroom behind me, above the living room. The bedroom against the far end was bigger than the one I ended up moving into once I was around eight, but the screaming and sounds of fists on flesh rose from the sitting room too easily. It didn't matter anymore, I suppose, since I had been living in the master bedroom-which only boasted about five square feet over the other room.

I set my things in the living room for now, undecided as to where to put them since I'll start moving things around tomorrow. The charmed icebox still has some cheese and a loaf of bread, and I make a mental note to buy groceries after I eat two bites of the technically safe but disgusting sandwich I threw together.

It's only three when I fall into bed, after casting a dust-removing charm.

But if I must be here, where memories haunt me and the sounds of abuse and screaming fill my ears long after the deaths of my parents, at least I will be here to ensure no family after me knows about it.

The next few days are busy. I've hired a magical contractor to help with the things I don't know how to do. The house is quite old, after all, and I know nothing about electricity.

After walking the man-Eddie, he insisted, with a firm handshake and a rough clap on my back-around the house, he asks me to give him a couple of hours and he'd have an estimate for me. I decide that it would be a good time to pay a visit to Lily.

I call out her address to the floo network, and the second I am sucked up, I feel an odd shudder from underneath me. I land safely in Lily's hearth, to see her levitating five or six colorful scarves in the air for Harry, who is jumping up and trying to catch them.

"Severus! Hello, I didn't think you would come over today. How have you been?"

Lily's magic has been steadily climbing and she's gained magnificent control over it, and the healers think perhaps there might be hope for her magical strength after all. I smile proudly at her as I lean over and kiss the top of Harry's head and then hers.

"I'm well. I hadn't planned on coming by, but I may need to go back to the house-something happened in the fireplace behind me as I left. The contractor wanted to survey the house and I thought I'd take the two of you to lunch, however..." I look behind me at Lily's perfectly fine hearth and shrug.

Lily let the scarves fall on Harry, who flops back onto the floor laughing loudly, "more, more, Mumma!"

She smiles fondly at Harry for a moment before turning to me. "Lunch sounds wonderful, Severus. We could apparate to the house and see what the trouble is and go from there?" she suggests. "I could stand to get out of the house for a while, either way."

It's not often that Lily stays in her pyjamas-she calls them jammie days, of all godforsaken terms-and today is one of them. I offer to change Harry while she gets ready, and she promises to hurry.

I take the both of them in side-along and when I come to the house, it looks fine from the outside. Eddie is inside, inspecting the fireplace carefully, which looks the same as I left it, but he a bit shellshocked.

"Mr. Snape, I'm glad ya came back. Did something happen when ya floo'd away?" he asks, nodding to Lily and turning back to me.

"Yes, it kind of...shuddered. I thought perhaps it had collapsed."

Eddie shakes his head, "nah, it wouldn't'a done that, or ya'd be dead in a pile a bricks."

I shudder at the visual.

"Bu' it's close to it. Don't use the floo no more til I can figure it out, right?"

"Of course. Is it safe to continue your inspection?"

Eddie nods and waves me off. "Go on. Gimme til around two an' come back. I'll have an answer."

I bid goodbye to the contractor and walk with Lily and Harry, toddling along between us, holding on to our hands, to a little cafe close by.

"When do you leave?" Lily asks after we've ordered, and there's sadness in her voice.

"On the seventeenth of July."

She nods. "I'll miss you," she says.

Against better judgement, I take her hand. "I'll come visit whenever I can. Definitely around Christmas. And don't forget Harry's birthday, I'll be back for that."

"His birthday is on a Saturday, so we'll have the party that day. Can you stay until Sunday?" Lily gives Harry a sip of water and pulls a plastic chain out of her purse to occupy himself with. He clicks the pieces in and out of place as we talk.

"I should be able to." I rub her palm absentmindedly with my thumb. She hasn't pulled away, and my heart beats doubletime in my ribs. Heart failure would be a sweet death at this moment, I should think.

Lily gives me a tiny smile. "Good. We haven't' spent much time together in the past few months."

I nod. "I apologize about that. Work has been unmanageable. Had been," I correct myself. "I'll make it to dinner tonight, though. Every one until I leave, I assume."

That earns me an earnest smile. "That'll be so nice to have you there."

When our meals come, Lily busies herself cutting Harry's chicken into smaller bites he can eat with his fingers. I can tell something is on her mind, but I can't ask her outright. She's like a cat-let her come to you.

When we arrive back at the house at Spinner's End at a quarter to two, Eddie is upstairs in the bathroom, head under the sink.

"Well, I have an idea for ya," he says as he wipes his hands on the dingy blue coveralls. "To just get the floo fixed an' the electrical and plummin' up to code, I figure you're lookin' at about six hunnerd galleons."

I nod gravely; it's about what I had expected.

"Ya plannin' on remodelin' as well?"

"Yes, I had. I'm not quite sure how yet."

Eddie cleans off his glasses with a handkerchief I'm sure will make them even dirtier. "I have someone I collaborate with on projects like this. If ya want, I can give her a call and we can work together. Come up with a design, that way ya won't have to worry about interferin' with any work I've done or nothin'. Interested?"

I look at Lily, who nods and says, "It's probably a good idea, Sev."

"Sure. Let's do that. I'll get estimates before any work gets done, right?"

"'Course. Now, I placed a anti-heat charm on some a the wirin' in the kitchen, 'cos that's a nightmare in there. I'm shocked the place hain't burnt down an' taken the other houses with it. Ya might wanna find a place to stay until at least that's fixed." Eddie's eyes dart between us like he's calculating something.

"I'm guessin' the two a ya are gonna be livin' together after this place is finished anyway, what's a couple weeks early? Hain't waitin' for the wedding night are ya?" he chuckles.

Lily looks at me, mouth open and eyes sparkling in mirth.

"Oh-we're not-" I start, but Lily's arm snaking through mine interrupts me.

"Darling, we can't hide it forever. Of course you can move in a bit early."

Eddie grins. "I thought so. Finally makin' an 'onest woman. That's a good boy ya got there. I'll get back to ya tomorrow Mr. Snape and Connie can meet us at the house to talk."

I can feel my face reddening. An odd anger that I can't place snakes its way up from my belly to my throat and I swallow against it. "I'll just go gather my things, then," I say, and jerk my arm from Lily's.

"Sev-" I can hear her shocked voice behind me, but I ignore it. I shrink my suitcases and stuff them in my pockets again. Lily's still standing at the edge of the garden, looking worried. I force myself to calm down as I wrap an arm around her shoulders and apparate us back to her house.

Lily clears her throat. "Severus...I'm sorry if I-"

I wave off her apology. "I know my way to the guest room, Lily. I think I'll rest a bit before dinner. Do you want me to lay Harry down for a nap?"

"Oh-er, sure. Thank you." She gives me the boy-the boy I wish with every fibre of my being were actually mine-and I lay him down in his cot.

The guest room is pretty and simple, with a narrow bed and desk and a wardrobe I stuff my shrunken things in to deal with later. I take off my shoes and coat and strip to my boxers before climbing into the bed. I hadn't honestly needed to rest but now that I am up here, it sounds better than mulling over the disturbing anger and melancholy banging around my brain.

When I wake up, it's dusk. I suppose it was the arrival of the mutts which woke me, as I can hear their voices. I stretch the stiffness from my muscles and dress again and make my way to the end of the hall, checking on Harry on my way. He's not in his crib, and I wonder exactly how long I was asleep for.

I can hear Lily and Lupin and Black in the kitchen and dining room and halt just before the bottom of the stairs when I hear my name come from Lily's mouth.

"-and he's been up there ever since. I don't know if he's actually asleep or just avoiding me."

"Even if he's angry, he's not the type to ignore you, Lily," Lupin comforts her.

"Besides, what would he be angry with you over?" Black speaks up.

"I don't know. We were having a good afternoon. We went out for lunch, then to his Spinner's End. He has a contractor looking at his house to renovate it, and he said the electricity wasn't safe for Severus to be living there." She gives a little amused snort. "Eddie-the contractor-actually thought he was selling because Sev's moving in with me so he should just move in before the wedding. He said it's good he's making an honest woman of me," she laughed.

The dogs are silent for a moment before Lupin says softly, "Lily...are you out of your mind?"

"What?" Her voice suggests she's insulted.

"How could you be so...cruel?"

"Cruel how? I thought he'd get a laugh out of it."

A long pause, then-"Fucking Merlin, she doesn't have a clue..."

"Babe, how do you not know?" Black asks, scandalized, and I brace myself against the wall for the words I know are coming out of his fucking stupid mouth next. "He's been in love with you for ages."

I shut my eyes as tightly as I can. I could hear a pin drop, and then Lily's nervous laughter. "No he hasn't."

"Why do you think he was in the hospital with you? Even I wasn't there that much, and I'm your best friend," Black says carefully.

"You were in prison."

"Even after then."

"But...he's with Mary. He sees her at least twice a month. I know they've...they're together."

"You can be with someone without loving them," Lupin sounds like he'd rather be anywhere other than in that kitchen.

"Oh God. And Eddie thought Harry was his..."

"I'll tell you now, Severus couldn't love Harry any more than he does now, even if he were actually his father. It kills him."

"How have I not known this?"

Black's voice is surprisingly sympathetic. "You've been wrapped up in your own stuff. And you shouldn't feel guilty about it, because I know you will. It's shit that you have every right to be wrapped up in."

"Plus, he's very good at hiding it," Lupin adds. "Severus doesn't want you to feel pressured or guilty. You come first to him."

"Did he tell you all this?"

"He didn't have to."

"I feel sick."

"Lily, don't let on that you know this. I'm sure he doesn't want you to know. And you don't want to give him hope if nothing's going to happen, you know?"

"Right." A long sigh. "Gods, I feel like such a fool."

"No more than he does, I'm sure," Black mutters.

"You...do you feel anything for him, Lily?" Lupin asks quietly, and I know then that he can sense me listening in. He's getting information for me, and I appreciate it as much as I want to run to the toilet and eject my stomach contents into it.

"He's my oldest friend. I've never considered him that way. I love him, but...but not the way he wants it, I'm sure." She sounds miserable.

"Then whatever you do, don't lead him on."

"I would never!" she cries out.

"I know you wouldn't on purpose. But just be aware of what you're saying and doing."

"No more holding his hand, I guess," she sighs.

I decide I've heard more than enough. I make my way back up the stairs and deliberately open and close the guest room door, and make sure my feet are heard on the stairs. When I get down, Black and Lupin are sat at the bar, drinks in hand, and Lily's back is to me at the stove, busying herself with it. Harry is watching some puppetry show in the den, gnawing on a cat toy. I say my hellos and go to replace the catnip-filled burlap with a soft stuffed puppy. When I come back to the bar, Lupin shoots me a sympathetic glance and I nod at him.

If nothing else, my few years as a spy taught me to be a fabulous actor. "I needed that nap, Lily, thank you. I'm sorry if I was a bit grumpy earlier." I give her a lopsided smile and she returns it with eyes beginning to redden.

"No problem, I'm just glad you're feeling better."

"I am. Need any help with dinner?" I ask.

"Erm-do you want to take the potatoes from the oven and unwrap them? They should be ready."

"Of course."

"Thank you."

I don't know how many times a heart can break until it can survive no further abuse, but I have a feeling it would be a very slow death.


	12. Chapter 11

_Hey all! Thanks to those coming back, and to those following along for the first time! I appreciate all of you! XOXO_

* * *

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN**

 **GOOD-BYES**

* * *

"The tile looks better than the laminate, but white will show anything."

"That's what I thought. I told Connie a light brown instead."

"Bown."

"Good, Harry. Brown, yes." Lily ruffles the boy's hair affectionately. She's got him on her lap on the barstool as I prepare lunch for them. I've been staying in the guest room at her house for a fortnight, and it's been painfully wonderful, pretending that we could be a family. It's been two weeks of sharing meals, talking into the night, quietly reading in the den together. We take Harry to the park every day and we've window-shopped around Diagon Alley. One morning, I spelled Lily's alarm clock silent. I woke with Harry and had him all to myself until eleven, when she came downstairs scolding me for not waking her. She needed a late morning, though.

She hasn't brought up her discussion with Black and Lupin, nor has she behaved any differently, other than refraining from kissing my cheek like she did before. In truth, it's been a bit of a relief. Lily's sweet lips on my face tended to cause more ache than pleasure. At night, though, I hear their conversation, turning over in my head. My dreams are filled with her discomfort at my affection, of me telling her I love her and her rebuffs.

I need to get out of this house. Thank Merlin for Mary.

Lily's looking through the design samples for the house in Spinner's End. Eddie the contractor did a quick, efficiant job getting the house up to code, and it's no longer in danger of exploding at the switch of a light. Using a series of tricky spells, he expanded the kitchen and dining room further into the back garden, freeing up room to enlarge the living room into a decent size. The same went with the upstairs, the bedrooms no longer cramped and dingy. I've yet to see the inside of the place, instead trusting Connie. I'm not going to be living in it, after all.

Harry points to the pictures again. "Bown."

"No, that's yellow, Harry. Yellow," she says slowly.

"Lellow?"

"Y-ellow."

"Lellow." He points to the same picture. Then to another one. "Lellow."

"Green"

"Lellow." He touches his mum's nose. "Lellow."

I chuckle and set his lunch in front of him and put another plate in front of Lily. I move the other things aside and neatly stack them at the end of the bar.

"Thank you, Sev," she sighs. "What about you?"

"I'm having a late lunch with Mary. She's not off work until two."

"Oh." She twirls her fork in her food; adjusts Harry on her lap.

"Lellow."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Harry," I say. He gives no notice he's heard me, but doesn't do it again anyway. I return my attention to Lily. "So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a quick shower." She stops me as I round the counter, hand on my wrist.

"Sev...how does Mary feel about a long-distance relationship?"

It's precariously close to territory I don't want to delve into with Lily. Carefully, I reply, "I'm...not sure. This is probably the last time I'll see her before I go. We don't exactly have a romantic relationship."  
Lily cocks her head to one side, eyes sharp. "You've been seeing her since around Christmas, haven't you?"

I sigh. "We've been friends for that long, yes."

She blinks owlishly. "Oh. I thought you...well..."

This conversation has no point, and given the circumstances Lily shouldn't have any interest in my sexual life. I set my jaw, trying not to show my frustration in front of Harry. "I fail to see how what kind of relationship I may or may not have is your business. You're neither my mother nor my lover. So if we can be done with this, I would very much like to have my shower and get ready to go."

She's angry at me, that much I can see, but I turn to the hallway before she can open her mouth.

Perhaps it was a bit cruel, to be that blunt. But Lily knows my feelings for her. She's backed off showing me physical affection-as platonic and innocent as it was. She has no say over my personal life, and Mary and I have never fooled ourselves into believing we are partners of any kind outside her bed. More often than not, when we meet for lunch or dinner, we don't end up having sex. She's a dear friend, a perfect confidant. Black and Lupin have become good friends (and I don't take it lightly that I have four people who I can give that title to) but I don't have to share Mary with the others. I don't have to worry about her loyalty to others when I confide in her.

I couldn't put a label on my friendship with Mary, but I would call it comfortable. Mutually comfortable.

My shower is too hot, the bathroom floor under my feet too cold. I dress simply, in a dark blue button-up and dark jeans. Lily bought me the fucking things insisting that I should dress more comfortably and approachable. Damn her, she was right.

I tie my hair back at the nape of my neck, wondering if I should cut it. It's grown out past my shoulders, and is forever falling in my face. I like it long, but it's a nuisance.

Shaking my own vanity out of my mind, I ensure I have my coin purse and go downstairs. Harry's still eating his lunch, and Lily's scrubbing her plate clean.

I clear my throat. "I'll be back in a few hours. Do you need me to bring anything back?" I ask.

Without looking up, Lily shakes her head, keeps scrubbing. I barely keep from rolling my eyes as I kiss

Harry on his soft hair.

"Lellow?"

"Good-bye. Bye, Lily."

"Bye," she says curtly.

I close the back door softly behind me and apparate to the lobby of St. Mungo's. Will, one of the Medi-Wizards, smiles at me. "Hey, there, Severus. Good to see you." He shakes my hand. "Mary should be out soon. Have a seat."

I nod my thanks and sit as offered. Mary's late-it's not the first time it's happened, given the nature of her job. She finally comes down the stairs at a quarter past two, smiling sheepishly.

"I'm sorry I'm so late. We had a little situation."

"No matter. I have no job to get to," I tease.

"Yeah, lucky you, you bastard."

"Now would a bastard buy you flowers?"

"No. But you don't have any with you, so my original statement remains."

I chuckle and kiss the back of her hand before tucking it into the crook of my elbow. "Where to?"

"Well...when do you have to be back?"

I huff. "I told Lily I wouldn't be too long. Probably until later evening."

Mary huffs out a laugh that's more like a scoff. "I feel like the mistress."

"No chance, my dear. You are my one and only," I grin at Mary and spin her, dip her back like in a dance. Her laughter makes me smile. Our lighthearted banter has bordered on flirting more than once, and it feels good to be so...free and light.

"Take it outside, lovebirds," Will jabs with a smile.

We smirk at each other and head out the front doors together. We settle on a little patisserie and sit outside in the sunshine.

"How are you getting to Spain?" she asks.

"Portkey," I reply, taking a sip of water. "I hate it, but I hate multiple Apparition more."

She shudders. "Ugh. Me too. I saw someone get splinched while we were practicing. They put him right in the end, but I could never forget it. And he just howled in pain."

I smirk. Black himself had been splinched, goofing off and being a moron, even now I still think he deserved it. His entire arm and shoulder had been suspended mid-air, dripping blood, as he passed out as soon as he landed. He still has the scar.

"Will you miss me?" she teases.

"Of course." I sigh. "I may miss your mattress more, though. That thing is amazing."

She laughs. "Oh sure, use me for my bed." She sobers a bit and looks down before speaking again. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that...I think I want to end that part of our..."

"Agreement?" I finish for her, the corner of my mouth slipping up. I figured this was coming. Between the end of my close proximity and the frequency she speaks of her co-worker, it's not a surprise.

"That's...a rather cold term for it, but sure."

I take her hand on the table and give it a squeeze. "I saw it coming. What's his name, Gavin?"

"Yes, Gavin. You're not upset?"

I shake my head gently, truthfully. "We both agreed what this was. I have no romantic feeling for you, but this Gavin person had better not be the jealous type, because I still intend on seeing you as a friend and taking you dancing."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

Six months ago, Mary helped me open up, unlock my prison doors. Took my hand and led me out. I feel vastly different than the man I was before last Halloween, before the Dark Lord's fall, and if it weren't for this petit cannonball of a woman, I doubt it would've happened.

My lunch with Mary ends after I've stolen a rose from a passersby's bouquet for her and declare myself no longer a bastard. I promise to write to her as soon as I get settled in and leave her back at St. Mungo's to floo home, while I apparate myself back to Lily's back garden.

She's sitting in the den, reading the paper, while Harry is sorting blocks by color. She looks up at me as I close the sliding door, a timid smile on her lips.

"Is it safe or should I make myself scarce again?" I ask. I'm always unusually bold after meeting with Mary, and I'm thankful for it now. No need to have any further awkwardness between Lily and I.

The smile turns apologetic. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I was so touchy earlier. You were right, I shouldn't have pried, it's not my business." She swallows down a lump in her throat as I lean against the post above the three steps separating the den from the dining area. "I suppose I just worry for you. I don't want you to get hurt. Loving someone in a different country...it doesn't always work out."

My boldness turns into stupidity, my reserve weakened and self-denial tired. "No worse than love unrequited, I'm sure."

She blinks, and her mouth opens a little in shock as I just look at her. A silent understanding passes between us, a conversation held through our eyes, and when Lily nods and looks away, I let it drop.

We both know I love her and she doesn't return it. We both know it's not changing. We both know our friendship is not worth risking.

The only difference, I'm sure, is that she believes I will get over it. But you don't get over a twelve-year love that easily.

I clear my throat and descend into the den to sit in front of Harry where he's still playing with the blocks. I wave my wand and create a large castle in front of his laughing eyes. He claps his hands and barges through the blocks as soon as I still my wand.

"Lellow!"

"He's still on that, is he?"

Lily snickers. "He's called everything yellow all day. Lellow," she corrects herself.

My heart cracks a little further after I lay in bed and, to my horror, a tear falls down the side of my face. I am stronger than this, I tell myself. I am stronger than to let myself cry like a homesick first-year, but the tears come all the same, and I roughly wipe them away.

This time away would be good for me. Get some new perspective, some distance. Some fresh sea air.

* * *

The house is done in early July. I let the realtor draw up the papers, but prefer to be there when the house is shown each time, to get a feel for the potential buyers. I refuse to let any more bad memories to be made in this house. It's sold after being on the market for only two weeks, to a fresh-faced young muggle couple, the wife rounded in the belly and running her hands lovingly over the second bedroom, telling her husband where she wants the bassinet and how the curtains will flutter in a breeze. He looks over her with a hand rubbing her aching back, smiling indulgently. When their offer comes in, at what the realtor says is almost insultingly below asking price, I tell her I want them to have it anyway. "In fact, cut another two thousand out." I give no answer to her shocked response, but leave and tell her I'll be back in the next week to sign everything and hand over the keys.

The night before I leave, Lily prepares an enormous meal-a little bit of everything I love, hodge-podged together on the kitchen island. Chicken curry and rice, a game pie (pheasent, Black says proudly, flashing his teeth, and I grimace at how this poor bird probably met his fate) Mashed potatoes, courgettes and yellow squash and Brussels sprouts roasted on the little barbeque outside. For dessert, Lily's made some blackberry ice cream, and it's smooth and delicious and just a little tart.

I've spent the day with Harry. We went to the playground and I chased him around the slide and swung him up high. We shared a doughnut and lied to his mother that I gave him a healthy lunch. I read to him from the dragon book I bought him all those months ago when his mum was in the hospital, and he still giggles at the way the Vipertooth snaps his paper jaws at Harry's chubby fingers.

The child is growing out of his baby rolls, speaking more by the day, smiling and jabbering and coming up with little games with his toys, of which only he knows the rules. I'm going to miss him more than I will Lily, I think. I've grown so attached to this smart, silly little boy, and he to me. In the mornings he tends to come into my room and crawl into bed with me and we'll just lay there as I wake up and sometimes he'll tickle me or pull my hair or sit across my stomach and jump. I love those mornings.

Harry seems to know something's up-he's inspected my boxes and suitcase, stuffed with my things, and he won't let me out of his sight, insisting I hold him more often than not. After dinner, he's curled into my chest after absolutely stuffing himself, breathing heavily as he drifts off to sleep early at only half past six. I wipe the purple bit of ice cream off his cheek and hand and adjust him better against me so I can hold my cards easier. Call me a hustler, but Lily neglected to mention to Black and Lupin that she taught me how to play poker, and both of them have refused to play with her for years now. Black folded ten minutes ago, and Lupin proudly puts down his Full House. I flash him a cocky grin and lay out a Straight Flush.

"Damn it!" He thumps the table angrily and crosses his arms.

Harry jumps as I laugh at him, but doesn't wake. I take out my wand and float the twelve sickles and two galleons into my drawstring purse. "Care for another game?"

Lupin looks over at Lily, who's covering her mouth impishly. Narrowed eyes meet mine as wheels begin to turn. "You damn cheats! That's not fair!" He's laughing as he's accusing us.

"I didn't cheat. I merely refused to divulge that I am as talented as Lily at this game."

"Honestly, Remus, you should know better than that by now."

He shakes his head and begins packing the cards away.

"I'm going to put Harry to bed." I carefully get up from my seat and make my way upstairs.

It's my last chance to lay him in his cot for a very long time, I think mournfully to myself. I close the door and sway him gently for a few minutes. I sing him Blackbird, even though he's not awake to hear it, and my eyes prickle and I chastise myself for becoming soft and sentimental.

"I love you, Harry," I whisper to him as I cover him up with his soft red blanket.

He wakes slightly at the jostling. "Sebbus," he mutters and blinks sleepily up at me. "Ni-night."

"Good night." I give him a final pet on the head and leave his room. I pass through the others chatting in the dining room and say I'll be back inside in a few. I let myself out the back sliding door onto the patio and light a cigarette. It's been a long while since I've smoked, and as usual, it's during a moment of high stress. The action, the burn, is soothing and meditative in its own way.

The sliding door opens and I grumble to myself for not being able to have a moment of alone time in this house. It's Remus, and he leans against the house next to me. He's a bit less tired than he normally is during this time of month. It's been two weeks since the full moon, but it was an eclipse, and the moon's pull was less overwhelming than usual, the light blocked and dimmed.

His presence is unwelcome, but not grating. "Are you excited to start your Mastry courses?" His voice is quiet.

"I am."

"Good." He lets a few beats of awkward silence pass until he speaks again. "I've found another werewolf willing to try your experiments."

I exhale a pursed stream of smoke sharply. "Really?" I turn to look at his tired face.

"Yes. His name is Callum. I met him last year while I was on the run, in a group of werewolves that meet every month to go through the change together."

"I didn't know they did that."

He nods. "Some do. It gives a sense of community, or security. They hold each other responsible to meet deep in the woods and change there. It's a bit of pack mentality, but they all refuse to officially register themselves to their ministries, and therefore don't have access to Wolfsbane. Callum agreed that if you keep his lycanthropy a secret, he would try your potion for as long as it takes to perfect it."  
I'm sure my eyebrows are meeting my hairline. I stub out the cigarette under my boot and Banish the butt. "I would like to meet him."

"I'll have him owl you in the next couple of weeks. He's willing to travel to Spain to meet with you."

"That's wonderful, thank you, Remus."

He nods. "Of course." Another brief silence. "We'll miss you, you know. You've become a good friend, even Sirius thinks so, though he'll never tell you."

I grimace. "I'm sure he and I are of a like-minded attitude."

Remus laughs and claps me on the shoulder. "You'll come visit, though, right? Harry's birthday's at the end of the month."

"I will. And for more than that. I'll be working through most weekends, but I'll take off the occasional one and come visit."

"Good." He nods. "And send Harry letters. He'll miss you a lot."

I nod in response and open my mouth, but am interrupted by the sliding door and Black's shaggy head.

"C'mon, Remus, quit hogging Snape. He's got to open his present before we go home."  
I raise an eyebrow-"Present?"

I allow myself to be led into the sitting room, where a large sheet covers something familiarly dome-shaped. I don't dare allow myself to hope.

"We wanted to make sure there was a way for you to stay in touch," Lily explains, as she lifts the white cloth off of the elaborate, and large, steel cage. Sitting, looking grumpy and irritated, is a great horned owl, bright orange and brown and grey. His ears twitch, the downy feathers quivering, and he glares at me as though to say, "what the fuck are you looking at?"

I look at the three of them in awe. "You didn't have to do this...he's incredible."  
Lily shrugs. "We wanted to."

I open the cage and coax him onto my arm, grateful he has the customary softening charms on his great claws. He allows me to pet him a few times, closing his eyes contentedly.

"He's beautiful." He ruffles and preens a bit, reminding me of a proud hippogriff showing off.

"He doesn't have a name yet. The girl at Eyelop's said he's only a year and a half old."

"What's the age range?"

"Twenty to thirty in captivity," Black replies.

I nod. He'll do wonderfully. He accepts a little bit of game pie but looks insulted at the blackberry ice cream Lupin offers right before he and Black leave. At the end of the night, I take him to the guest room with me and let him rest on the windowsill-houses built by wizards have their little quirks, like the perch built into the windowsill and the windows that open inward so a bird can open it easily in case of a storm or such. I leave out some water for him and leave the cage door open if he prefers that. He gives me a soft hoot and taps the window with his beak. I pull it open and he gives me a quick nip on my wrist before jetting off into the night. I have no fear that he will come back-magical owls always know where they are and where to come back to.

After dressing down and brushing my teeth, I lay myself down on this bed that is mine only for one more night and struggle to fall asleep, finally managing only in the small hours of the morning.


	13. Chapter 12

Hello again, friends! A timely update, I know, I was surprised as well! This is...I don't know, it was an odd chapter to write, it's not a filler chapter, but there's not a whole lot of plot exactly. I hope you like it. It was a lot of fun researching for this chapter, you should look up Fisterra, it's a gorgeous place. The story's going to quicken up after this, we're going to cover a lot of time in not a lot of chapters, and I know you'll be happy for having stuck it through! As always, thank you for reading and reviewing! XOXO

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER TWELVE**

 **WEST WIND**

It seems odd that a simple worn brick has the power to propel me over a thousand kilometers, but portkeys have yet to fail me, save for the ease of my stomach. I close my eyes and grind my teeth against the nausea the second after my feet slam back down on to Earth. The pulsing tide assaults my ears as it crashes against rocks nearby, and the sharp scent of sea water rushes into my senses, cleansing them and clearing my mind.

When I am sure that I won't be sick, I open my eyes to a slightly cloudy sky, blue-grey with the recent dawn. The wind whipping around me chills me to the bone and I cast a quiet warming spell; up high on the cliff as I am at the very beginning of the day, it's not odd that it's this cold, despite the summer.

I turn slowly from the beauty of the coast and find behind me a lighthouse looming above further up the hill. It's a large, rectangular building, the octagonal tower housing the light rising from the middle of it. It's beautiful and imposing and lonely and immediately I feel at peace.

Brick in hand, bags in my pockets, I climb up the hill to the lighthouse, certain that people aren't really allowed on this side of it. The lack of any place for my feet to grip proves it more than the stone wall I have to clamber gracelessly over. I land on the level concrete foundation of the lighthouse itself and take out the note in my pocket once I'm sure I am in a place which people are actually allowed to be.

The note which Mistress Marckwordt sent instructs me to walk 600 meters exactly North-North-East, and speak a spell when I begin to feel a foreboding dread. The way is hilly and rocky and I hate every second of it. About twenty steps after crossing a road I assume is to the lighthouse, I start to feel the sense of fear she was describing, and panic I think is a better word for it, and I have to force myself to speak the spell instead of running back for the road.

It's a very good defense system.

As I speak the Spanish spell, the air around me shimmers and the trees seem to part around a rounded stone foot path, and a cottage comes in to view. Gleaming white walls and a red clay tiled roof. A shade tree nestles up to the west side of the house, dropping leaves in the breeze along the garden. A large fenced-in and warded potions garden sit on either side of the house, and I can recognize why as which plants need more sun than the others. A silver cauldron sits in a part where it has been soaking up moonlight, and is sitting charged with energy now that I can feel. In the planters underneath the windows grow picturesque flowers, and around the bright blue front door grows a halo of morning glory.

As I come up, taking in the beauty of the land I am to live on for the next year and a half or so, a woman I can only assume is the potions Mistress comes bustling from the front door. She's medium height and average build save for her hips which seem to overtake her lower half. As she comes to greet me, tucking her flyaway hair into an elastic, her face splits open into a welcoming, warm smile. She's younger than I expected, perhaps in her late thrities, with early smile lines and a chipped front tooth. She's as beautiful and bright as the property she surrounds herself with, little physical quirks adding to her charm.

I feel the tingle of a translation charm charge the air between us before she speaks. "You must be Severus! It's wonderful to meet you at last." She kisses my cheeks enthusiastically. "I've heard so much about you! How was your trip?" She gathers up the cauldron and beckons me inside with a jerk of her head. "Come, I have breakfast cooking."

I open the door for her and follow her inside. The main cottage was probably built some time in the sixteenth century, with stone walls and wooden support beams. The floor's aged wood is perfectly clean, and she insists I take my shoes off at the door. She hefts the cauldron under a workbench and bids me to sit at a table in the kitchen, where she dishes up out of a cast iron skillet. She pours coffee and passes a little carafe with fresh cream to me.

"Tortilla espanola," she says with a nod at the skillet steaming in front of me. She lifts a slice onto my plate and, despite having eaten earlier, I take a bite as not to offend her. Egg, potato, a bit of onion.

"It's delicious, thank you, Mistress Marckwordt," I compliment with a smile. It truly is wonderful, and I lament not coming with an appetite.

She waves a hand at me, "Blanca, when we're not in a professional setting, please. And then, Maestra is fine. Marckwordt doesn't exactly roll off the tongue," she jokes, always a smile on her face.

I nod in agreement. "It's not a traditional Spanish name, is it?"

"My grandfather was German," she replies. "Come, eat, do you like it?"

I lift my fork to my mouth again, not wanting to be rude, and hum my satisfaction in the food. I'll just have to be uncomfortably full for a while, but if ever there was a dish I would be willing to stuff myself on...

"Was the journey all right?" Blanca asks. She tucks her hair back behind her ear from where it's escaped the elastic.

"As fine as portkey travel ever is. The place I landed is absolutely gorgeous."

"People used to say this was the end of the earth. It's fitting. I've often felt it here."

"How long have you lived here?"

Blanca takes a sip of coffee and dabs her lips. "I was born in this house. My mother was born in this house, and her mother, and hers." She smiles wolfishly. "I come from a long line of proud women who never wanted to give up their home to live with their husband." Her smile intensifies. "Or the odd traveling monk, in my grandmother's case."

My eyebrows reach my hairline. "Really?"

"I'll tell you the story some time, I'm sure. But there was rarely a traveler my grandmother fancied who could resist her."

"Do you have a daughter to pass your property to?"

"Not yet. There are still more things I want to do before I decide to have children. I have plenty of time."

I not in agreement. Child-bearing age for witches usually ends in their mid-sixties, proportionate to the extended lifespan when compared to muggles. Women only recently-since the war began-started having children earlier. Looking for something to hold on to during fraught times, I'm sure.

"Is there anything you would like to ask me, before I show you to your quarters?"

Full to bursting, I set my fork on my plate and push it away before answering, taking the moment to think. "Your letter said that you have been a potions mistress for eighteen years?"

"Yes, since I was twenty."

"And in that time you've taught thirteen people to Mastery?" I ask, incredulous. It had been the one thing that seemed too good to be true. In eighteen years of work, five, maybe eight was the norm. Thirteen was unheard of.

Blanca's grin turns a bit sheepish. "In my late twenties, early thirties, I got a bit...over-ambitious, shall we say. At one point I had four pupils, and I ran myself into ill health. After the last student, I vowed I was done with it. Until you."

"Albus said you owed him a favor?"

She cackles, throwing her head back in mirth. "I do owe him a favor, yes, and that debt is paid, and he will never darken my doorstep again. This is no favor to him, I would have fought any other Master or Mistress over gaining your tutelge."

No small amount of self-consciousness threatens to darken my cheeks. "I'm not sure I understand. I am an average student."

"Albus Dumbledore agreed to let you become a potions teacher without Mastery. The theories and papers you have published have been outstanding for someone your age, Severus, and the sample of the altered Wolfsbane you sent me...it's incredible. No one has ever thought to encapsulate something in a potion just to make it taste better. And you did it for a friend, which gives me hope that despite your...previous choices..." I force my hand to stay still when it instinctively goes to cover my left arm in shame. "...you will use this privilege for good things."

I take a slow, careful sip of my coffee before responding, "I appreciate your graciousness."

She waves me off and stands from the table.

The home Blanca leads me to, just over an acre away, sits in a copse of cork oak, in a little clearing just barely enough to hold the house. It's similar to the main house, with white stone walls and wood, and a bright blue door. Inside, a small kitchen and living area are separated only by a quaint table with two chairs. A door behind the comfortable looking leather couch opens to a room with a bed in it (because it is too small to be truthfully a bedroom), a washroom, and a closet just barely wider than my old school trunk.

I miss my copper bathtub.

"Small, but homey. Truthfully, most of my pupils merely come here to sleep. You are welcome in my house as you please. Also, you are welcome to invite whoever you like, whenever you like. I only ask for a bit of notice if they'll be coming to the main house. I want you to feel like this is your home. I realize it's not big enough to redecorate much, but if you see something you can do, go for it."

"I appreciate it dearly, thank you. Also, I should tell you, I do not require the translation charm, I can speak Spanish fluently. What I don't understand culturally, I can wing," I add in with a smirk.

Blanca smiles widely. "Perfecto! I won't have to worry about keeping it up while we're in the lab." She places a covered dish holding the rest of the tortilla espanola in the icebox tucked under the kitchen worktop. "This is enchanted, to hold a bit more than it should. Remember to replace the charm every month." She straightens up and dusts her hands off on her aquamarine blouse. "I shall leave you to get settled in, then. Feel free to roam about the land. I have my wards set so you will know when you have reached the borders of my property. You will have to use the spell to get back in."

"That is a unique ward. How did you come up with that premise of fear?"

"A trick my grandmother came up with, actually. Her grandfather was a violent man, and when her mother and father decided to leave his family home, they ensured that they would be safe. The only people who can get through the wards are people looking for help, someone similar in my grandmother's position. And wandering children."

I nod, pleased with her exceptions to her rule.

"All right, I will leave. Supper's at eight; come shortly before then and I'll show you my potions' lab."

"Thank you, Blanca. I very much appreciate your taking me on as your student."

She places a hand on my forearm, squeezing it warmly. "Of course, dear. I'll see you in a while, make yourself comfortable. And take a siesta, you look dead on your feet!"

I nod at her, planning on actually taking her up on the offer, my stomach so full I'm sleepy.

Blanca is a wonderful, warm, motherly woman. She showed me around on my first day, and we went to the market in Fisterra, just a quick walk away. She's quick to laugh, and quicker still to make a joke at my expense when she's had a glass or two of wine.

Maestra, however, is strict and demands perfection. Something I demand of myself as well, and find myself second-guessing my abilities, as she tells me I've picked up bad habits. A lazy wrist while stirring, holding my knife by the blade instead of the handle, not being grinding dried flobberworm eyes briskly enough; "don't let it oxidize!"

I miss home. I miss Harry's smiling face and his chubby thighs. I miss Lily's laughter, the warmth it fills me with. I even miss the canine counterparts, if I have to admit it. I place a picture of Lily pushing Harry on a swing in the little park around the corner from her house on top of a little end table next to the couch. They smile up at me when I walk by, and Harry's mouth is open in a silent squeal of delight.

I've named the beautiful owl Zephyr, a strong name that echoes my desire to come home. I found a strong branch from an oak tree and fashioned a perch for him, and he divides his time between the perch and roaming around Spain's northern coast.

A letter from Lily is my first contact from home, only two days after leaving. She reminds me sternly to come to Harry's birthday party, and I reply immediately that wild horses couldn't keep me away. Thus begins a string of letters with post scripts growing ever more odd about the probability that I could take a wild horse across the Bay of Biscay and the English Channel. Every letter contains a picture of her, Harry, Lupin, or Black, sometimes together, sometimes just one at a time. She says Harry misses me and I send a little enchanted box that plays Blackbird for him. He smiles and looks for me every time she plays it, she responds, with a picture of the boy opening it and his toothy, still-slightly-slobbery smile.

It's only been two weeks since I left England by the time I go back, but it's two weeks too long. I promise myself I'll come home at least once a month.

There's purple, green and orange balloons tied to the mailbox out front, as I walk up the path from the cramped alley the portkey dumped me out into a few streets over. Laughter is spilling from the open windows into the street. I recognize Black's bark-like laugh and tamp down the urge to smile. Who would have thought a year ago that I would be eager to see him.

I let myself in, taking a moment to breathe in the familiar smell of home. Cinnamon and spice from the candles Lily has burning, the sickly sweet pine scent from her favorite floor cleaner, and something unmistakably significant to this house, that I can't put my finger on, but would recognize anywhere.

Lily spots me first as she's coming down the stairs right as I open the door. "Severus!" she cries out, and wraps her arms around me. "Oh, it's so good to see you! " She plants a kiss on my cheek, then seems to remember herself, and that wall-the one that's been there since she realized my feelings for her-comes up again. She tucks her hair behind her ears and her cheeks and ears pink up. She avoids my eyes for a moment, picking an imaginary piece of fluff off of her blouse.

"You as well, Lily. How have you been?" I ask, as though I didn't notice the stutter in her behavior.

"Doing well. Missing you. Harry's been pining...let's go find him." She leads the way through the house, which has more people than I thought Lily really knew.

"Who are all these people?" I mutter to her on the way.

She rolls her eyes. "Some of James' family. A bit stuffy and just here to out-do each other on presents, I think. I don't know half of their names, but they'll probably be gone in a half hour. There he is!" Harry's in the back garden, mounted on a new toy broom, zooming around, chasing and kicking a large rubber ball. "Harry, look!" Lily calls to him. His head swivels around and his eyes land on me.

Harry's big wet smile scrunches his face up and he yells, "Sebbus!" and shoots forward to me, broom handle pointed directly at my groin and coming across the little garden at alarming speed. I take my wand hastily and cast a slowing spell on him, and he drifts to a stop just in time, the broom handle just nudging my zip.

I pick up Harry, grinning up at me, and kick the broom carefully aside. "That was too close, little man," I scold lightly. I hold his little body against me and breathe him in and tousle his windswept hair. "I missed you," I whisper at him. He lifts up his head and pats my cheek, lifting it up so my face scrunches, and laughs.

Over his head, Lily has her hand to her heart, and her eyes look suspiciously misty. When I shoot a concerned look at her, she shakes her head with a watery smile and continues to watch.

I want to stay home.


End file.
